


wicked little town

by gothyringwald



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Binge Drinking, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Homophobic Language, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insomnia, Light Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, Stargazing, Summer, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-05 10:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: The summer after graduation stretches before Steve, seemingly endless and utterly empty. He can't remember ever being this bored in his life. But when he runs into Billy one night, after hearing a rumour about him at a party, it feels like summer might not be so boring after all.





	1. nowhere else to go

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to ignore what we know about season three so far so this is, like all my fics, canon divergent after season two. But canon compliant up 'til then.
> 
> Also, I started writing notes for this back in June! Haha
> 
> Thanks to socknonny for reading this over and cheerleading!
> 
> The tags and rating are for the fic overall.
> 
> Title is from the song of the same name from Hedwig and the Angry Inch (Hedwig's version). The working title was 'summer ennui'
> 
> [Moodboard](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/181790228560/wicked-little-town-rated-e-wip-the-summer)  
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/andibgoode/playlist/59fOKCJh7AgAVTRNmNC2mr?si=UndXcR-WSJy5_rsPgSkzig)  
> [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/gothyringwald/fic-wicked-little-town/)  
> [Stunning art by the immensely lovely granpappy-winchester/lazybaker](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/post/182365546346/tell-me-a-secret-billy-says-for)

It's another balmy summer night, another party at someone or other's house, another haze of beer and smoke and pulsating music. Steve feels warm and lightheaded. It's mostly pleasant but beneath the slur of alcohol there is a bone deep boredom.

He had thought a summer full of parties would be just what he needed after the drawn out fever dream of his senior year. But it turns out it's fucking boring. The same people, the same booze, the same girls to fool around with. Always the same.

The only thing that's different, tonight, is Billy Hargrove isn't here. He's been at every other party this summer, loud and brash, and impossible to ignore. Billy gets under his skin in a way Steve can't, or doesn't want to, explain.

The air is close in the living room, the opened doors giving little reprieve with the sticky breeze that blows in. Steve weaves between the dancing teens and steps outside, solo cup of beer in hand. He finds Tommy and Carol smoking by a rusting swing set with some of their other former classmates milling around them. 

Steve leans against one of the posts, the coated metal slipping under his shoulder. Tommy and Carol are squeezed into a double swing, and Steve is surprised it hasn't broken. 

Cigarette smoke and the tang of cheap liquor fills the air. Steve is still thinking of Billy and, before he can think better of it, he's saying, 'Where's Hargrove?' He's always with Tommy, or, rather, Tommy is always with him.

Carol pulls a face and Tommy says, 'He wasn't invited.'

Steve blinks. Everyone is invited. 'Why not?' he asks, but he doesn't get an answer from Tommy, because Carol pulls him back toward her, kisses him sloppily, and Steve knows he won't get anything more out of either of them now. Steve rolls his eyes.

Kimberly sidles up to Steve, offering him a cigarette, which he takes, and says, 'No one wants Billy here. Didn't you hear about him?'

Steve shakes his head, nicotine buzzing in his veins. 'What'd he do?'

'Well, Carol's cousin's girlfriend went to summer camp with some chick who lives in California, now, and they're still in touch. Anyway, she knew Billy and it turns out he's…you know.' She makes a motion with her hand.

Steve frowns. 'No?'

She leans in, lipgloss sticky lips brushing Steve's ear, and whispers, 'A fag.'

The world see-saws. 'What?' Steve says but Kimberly's turned away, now, giggling with Trish and Vicki.

Her words ring in Steve's ears. It's probably only a rumour. Billy isn't...Billy couldn't be. Could he?

'Come dance with me, Steve,' Vicki is saying, tugging on Steve's wrist.

Steve nods, absently, and lets himself be dragged into the house, throbbing synth pop filling his ears. Vicki moves along to the beat, hair swishing and shoulders shaking; Steve does his best to keep up with her, but his head is buzzing and his limbs feel heavy.

If it's only a rumour, why isn't Billy here?

—

A breeze blows through the BMW's rolled down window, stirring Steve's hair, cooling the film of sweat that clings to his skin, that dampens his shirt in patches that stick and chafe. He sucks in a breath but the balmy air does little to clear his mind, fuzzy with beer and smoke and the rumour about Billy that keeps chiming in his head.

Is Billy Hargrove really gay? 

The thought makes something stir within Steve but he doesn't know why, doesn't know what it is. Only knows that it makes his skin feel too tight, makes his blood prickle and whirl.

The party had felt claustrophobic after Kimberly whispered those words in his ear and so he had left in the middle of dancing with Vicki, falling into his car and speeding off. The open stretch of road being swallowed beneath his tires does little to ease that tight feeling but maybe more alcohol will help, so he makes for The Country Bunker. No one ever checks IDs there.

The passing trees, spindly and skeletal even in summer, jangle on Steve's nerves and more than once he thinks he sees movement among them from the corner of his eye. But if he stops, he knows he won't find anything there. That's all over. Still, he doesn't look, keeps his eyes on the shine of headlights sweeping over the asphalt and plants his foot.

When he gets to The Country Bunker, his mind is still foggy and his blood still humming. He gets out, legs unsteady beneath him, and shuts his car door.

Something like a bolt of lightning zings through him when he hears a familiar voice yelling, 'I don't wanna drink in your shitty bar, anyway,' and he has to squeeze his eyes shut tight. He doesn't want to open them. But when stumbling footsteps sound across the parking lot and that same voice cuts through the night, saying, 'Harrington!' he has to.

Billy Hargrove is zig-zagging toward Steve, moonlight illuminating his dishwater blond curls, the blaze of his eyes, the blood on his chin. He moves right over to Steve, who is frozen in place. 

'What're you doing here?' he asks and Steve finally shakes himself out of his daze.

'Same as you, probably,' Steve says. 

Billy's eyebrows are drawn tight together, his lip curled. 'This place sucks,' he slurs.

Steve's lips quirk. 'Yeah?' His gaze flicks back toward the door where the bartender, Burt, is staring after Billy. 'You get thrown out or something?'

Billy shrugs. He licks his lips and Steve follows the motion, sees the hint of red on white teeth as Billy's lips part.

'Get in a fight?'

'Yeah,' Billy says, sullenly, 'but I didn't start it.'

Steve doesn't believe him but he doesn't say so. 

'It's not like there's anything better to do in this shitty town, anyway,' Billy says.

'Huh?'

'Than fighting,' Billy says. He licks his lips again. 'Or fucking.'

That tightness in Steve's skin comes crawling back. He presses his lips together and breathes in, but Billy is so close that he only inhales the scent of whisky and sweat and too much cologne. It's dizzying. 

Steve shakes his head. 'How about drinking?'

'That's what I was doing,' Billy says with a sneer. He jerks his head back toward the bar. 'But I'm barred, now.'

'I'm not,' Steve says, and he moves around Billy, toward the bar. A neon sign blinks above the entrance—a cowboy hat sits jauntily between the words 'country' and 'bunker'—washing the parking lot in green and red and blue. Steve turns and sees Billy staring at him. 

'What's your poison?' Steve asks and Billy grins.

—

The air feels thicker, stickier, when Steve emerges from the bar five minutes later. Billy is standing where Steve had left him, thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans, one ankle crossed over the other.

'Where's your car?' Steve asks, a bottle of whisky wrapped in a brown paper bag, heavy in his hand.

Billy flicks his cigarette, exhales a long plume of smoke. 'I walked.'

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. 'You walked all the way out here?'

'Daddy took my T-Bird away,' Billy says, his sing-song tone at odds with his sneer, 'but I still wanted to have fun fun fun.'

Steve frowns. 'Uh, OK. Well, I drove so, come on.'

They're close enough to the bar that the music playing on the jukebox—some kind of country song that Steve never could like—spills out into the night when someone opens the door. A man in a plaid shirt and blue jeans saunters past Steve and Billy on his way to his truck. It starts with a rumbling cough and then pulls out of the parking lot.

'You coming?' Steve repeats, waggling the bottle.

Billy hesitates a moment, but then he follows Steve to his car, fumbling into the passenger seat. 

Steve rolls the windows down—he prefers the night air to air-conditioning—and pulls out, tires kicking up dust.

'Where we headed?' Billy asks.

'Why? You worried I'm taking you somewhere I can hide your body easily.' Steve looks over at Billy, who's sprawled in the passenger seat, his knee angled toward the gear shift.

Billy snorts. 'I'd like to see you try.' He tilts his chin up, light catching on the smear of blood he hasn't wiped away.

Steve doesn't respond, focusses on the road, heart thudding.

Trees pass by in a blur. It's easier not to look for movement in them with Billy in the car. His presence takes up so much space—in the car, in Steve's head—that it's hard to think about anything else.

Billy fiddles with the radio until something with a grinding guitar blasts from the speakers. Steve wrinkles his nose but doesn't say anything. 

The air is starting to cool, blowing into the car around Steve and Billy. Steve rests his arm on the window, driving with one hand. He shoots glances at Billy, who switches between air guitar and air drums, over and over as they drive. He doesn't stop talking, either, voice raised to be heard over the throbbing heavy metal, and Steve thinks he should find it irritating but the more Billy's endless stream of chatter fills the car, the less space he has to think. 

Still, Steve says, 'Dude, don't you ever shut up?'

Billy flips him off, still chattering about the drum solo in this song, about basketball, about how everything in Hawkins sucks. 

Despite himself, Steve smiles, letting Billy's voice take him far away as he drives. 

It's not long before he pulls up to the quarry. Billy doesn't look surprised despite his earlier question. It's quiet and still when Steve cuts the ignition. He gets out of the car, grabbing the bottle, then walks around to sit on the hood. Billy joins him. 

The water stretches before them, moonlight glinting off its still surface. Steve's always liked it out here. It's where he had his first beer, pilfered from Tommy's dad. Where he'd gotten his first blow job, too.

Beside Steve, Billy is quiet for the first time since he got into the car and Steve has to turn to see if he's still there. He is, of course, his brow furrowed as he gazes out across the expanse of water.

The sudden change in Billy's mood discomfits Steve. He thinks about what Kimberly told him and something squirms in his stomach. Is Billy really—?

Billy's gaze snaps to Steve's. 'What?' he says, sharp voice cutting through the night.

Steve swallows heavily. He'd been staring. 'Nothing,' he says, face warm. He opens the bottle of whisky and takes a long pull. The burn does little to settle the feeling welling up within him, but it's a distraction, if only for a moment.

Billy snatches the bottle, his thumb brushing over Steve's as the bottle is passed between them, and drinks, head tipped back. His throat is pale in the moonlight, bobbing as he swallows. He finishes, wiping over the back of his mouth, and hands the bottle back.

Steve drinks again, tries to ignore the heat that pools when he thinks that his lips are now where Billy's had just been, then lets the bottle rest between his knees.

'I hate it here,' Billy says, bitterness in his voice.

Steve looks at him. Billy's eyes shine with anger and moonlight. 'Then why stay?' Steve asks.

Billy shrugs one shoulder. 'Nowhere else to go,' he says. There's something in his tone that tells Steve not to press. Billy lights up a cigarette, its cherry glowing bright in the murky light.

Steve swipes the cigarette—Billy quirks a brow and lights another—and hands the bottle of whisky back. He feels queasy from not enough food and too much booze. From the cotton wool feeling in his brain. From Kimberly's words playing over and over in his head every time Billy shifts and their arms brush.

'You going to college?' Steve asks, hoping it will provide a distraction.

'Nah college isn’t for people like me,' Billy says. The way he says it sounds practiced, rehearsed. Or like they're someone else's words, not his.

Steve frowns. 'What does that mean?'

'I like working with my hands.' Billy spreads his hands in front of him, moonlight glinting off his ring. He curls them into fists and clenches. 'I don't need to go to college to be a mechanic.'

'I guess not.'

'Are you going?'

'No,' Steve says. It's strange that _this_ is something he has in common with Billy Hargrove. Strange that they have anything in common beyond living in the same town, going to the same high school.

Billy's smile is mean when he says, 'Why? Didn't get in?'

'Fuck off,' Steve says. 'I got in.' Barely, he thinks. 'But when I got the letter I just knew...I'm not ready.' To leave Hawkins. To move on. To be someone else. He's not sure.

'So what're you gonna do?'

'Work for my dad, I guess. After summer.'

'Nice cushy job, huh?'

'Something like that,' Steve mutters, face hot with shame or embarrassment, he's not sure.

Billy huffs. 'It's all right for some.'

Steve bows his head, doesn't answer. He rolls the bottle in his hands and the memory of telling Nancy he'd stay in Hawkins for her fills his mind, unbidden. It feels like a lifetime ago. And he guesses he was right when he said he'd end up working for his dad, anyway. He swallows and glances at Billy.

Billy isn't looking at Steve, and Steve lets out a long breath, and takes another drink. The two of them sit in silence, long past when the bottle of whisky is finished, smoking and staring out at the water. Steve feels off-balance and muzzy. But it's the first time in weeks he hasn't felt bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm hoping to post twice a week from now until the end of January. Everything is drafted so I'm feeling hopeful but I can't always count on my health to cooperate. Haha.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/gothyringwald) if you want :) My ask box/IMs/whatever are always open :)
> 
> I have [a moodboard for the fic over here](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/181790228560/wicked-little-town-rated-e-wip-the-summer) on tumblr :)
> 
> I also have [a playlist on spotify of songs](https://open.spotify.com/user/andibgoode/playlist/59fOKCJh7AgAVTRNmNC2mr?si=QmDUFapCSFuGPtiJeAjKZw) I listened to to get in the mood (this is about half of my original playlist though haha) and a [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/gothyringwald/fic-wicked-little-town/) in case anyone is interested!


	2. does he know you're...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos on the first chapter! I'm so glad so many of you liked it—hopefully you all enjoy this chapter too :)
> 
> There's a very brief reference to Steve self-medicating or taking prescription drugs but it's one sentence and it may or may not come up again in the fic (if it does, it's just another throwaway line) so I didn't know if it warranted a tag. It's in the second paragraph and not mentioned again.
> 
> Although I _have_ updated the tags because I couldn't think of how to tag for some of the drinking in this fic and then I realised binge drinking probably covers it.
> 
> By the way, please feel free to point out any spelling errors or small typos!

The air is thick with heat though the sun has long since set. Steve's t-shirt sucks to his skin, sweat beading on his brow, his collarbone. He considers taking the shirt off—there's no one else out at this time of night—but instead he pulls at the fabric, shaking it out. It does nothing but cool the fabric down so that when he releases the shirt, it's now damp and cold against his hot skin. He grimaces.

The streets are empty as he walks along, hands sunk into the pockets of his shorts. He's taken to going on long walks around the town when he can't sleep and doesn't want to lie awake in bed, staring at his ceiling. When mother's little helpers don't help. His walks are aimless and languid and even though they don't wear him out, they keep him occupied. 

He doesn't know exactly what it is that keeps him awake. If it's memories of petal-faced monsters, visions of not being fast enough, of rows of razor teeth sucking gaping wounds into everyone he loves. Maybe it's the government, men in cheap nondescript suits, who could disappear him quicker than he could say demogorgon.

Or perhaps it is the bone deep listlessness that has taken hold, seeping in since graduation. Lack of direction, of purpose. There’s nothing to get up for, so there’s nothing to go to sleep for.

His footfalls echo in the empty streets, his breaths steady and pulse thrumming in his ears. Some nights he has music playing on his walkman, but most nights he prefers the quiet.

As he nears the public pool he hears movement. A crash. His heart leaps and he curls his hand around a bat that isn't there. He'd stopped bringing it. 

'Fuck,' he mutters. But then he hears shouting and realises the noise he heard was human in origin, not otherworldly. His heart slows.

He should ignore it but his curiosity is piqued and, so, he follows the commotion to find Billy Hargrove trying to pry open a small gap in the swimming pool's perimeter fence.

Steve's lips quirk of their own volition and he watches Billy struggle futilely with the chainlink a few moments before he clears his throat.

Billy wheels around, poised for a fight. He looks pale in the yellow streetlight. Tired. Beyond him, moonlight glimmers on the pool, soft on the still surface.

Steve raises a brow. 'What are you doing?'

'Rowing a boat,' Billy says. 'What does it look like I'm doing?'

Steve moves closer, peering down at the small hole in the fence. Kids use it to sneak in, but they're much smaller than Billy. 'It looks like you're trying to break into the swimming pool.'

'And I guess you're gonna rat me out?' Billy looks Steve over. 'Tell on me to your buddy, the chief.'

Steve doesn't rise to Billy's bait. Instead, he says, 'I have a pool.'

'And?'

'And you could've…' Steve trails off, heat rising to his face. Just because he and Billy got drunk the other night, it doesn't mean they're friends. He shakes his head. But it's obvious that he was going to say 'you could've asked me'.

Billy blinks at him. 'I could've called you, huh? Asked to come over for a pool party?' Billy sneers. 'We best buddies now?'

Steve flushes, a wave of irritation rising from his stomach. 'Do you wanna come for a swim or not?' he asks and turns to walk away. 

He's only taken a few steps when Billy catches up to him. 'Got any beer?' he asks, falling into step with Steve.

That wave inside Steve reaches its crest but when he looks at Billy—Billy is grinning, feral but real—it washes out.

'Yeah,' Steve says, shaking his head, 'I've got beer.'

—

The house is dark and still. Empty. Billy follows Steve through it quietly and with little fuss which unnerves him. He'd expected smartass remarks about the décor, the size, something. But Billy only looks around the dim rooms, face impassive, boots sinking into the thick carpet.

'This way,' Steve says, leading Billy out to the pool. 

Steve flips the switch for the pool lights and Billy finally whistles, low. 'Pretty fancy, rich boy,' he says, hands on his hips.

Ah. There it is. 'Shut up,' Steve says.

Billy grins and turns to him. 'So. Where's that beer?'

'Has anyone ever told you you're a terrible guest?' 

'I'm a fucking charming guest, Harrington,' Billy says.

Steve rolls his eyes. 'They're in the fridge. I'll go get them, you stay here.' He turns to walk back into the house but then he pauses and says, 'Don't break anything.'

Billy snorts but he keeps his mouth shut, half-turned from Steve, hip cocked and shoulders squared.

'Good,' Steve says inanely, and goes back inside.

As he stares into the fridge, he starts to question his sanity. This is the second time in a week he's invited Billy Hargrove to hang out with him. He's not sure if that makes him crazy or pathetic. He shakes his head and takes out a six pack, then goes back to the pool.

Billy is sitting on the edge, lit from below with the blue glow of the pool lights, wearing only his briefs. Steve nearly drops the beer.

'Why are you…' Steve trails off, waving his hand to indicate Billy's state of undress.

Billy looks at him like he's an idiot. 'I thought we were swimming,' he says. 'Or do rich people swim fully clothed?'

Steve flushes. He doesn't answer Billy, just throws a can of beer at him, which Billy deftly catches.

'So what was Steve Harrington doing out wandering the streets of Hawkins so late at night?' Billy asks, drinking his beer.

'What was Billy Hargrove doing?'

'Being a public menace.' Billy grins again, teeth bared.

Steve laughs. 'OK.'

It's weird being fully clothed, while Billy is sitting there in only his briefs, so he thinks fuck it and pulls his shirt off. He starts to turn away, then stops himself, but he doesn't look at Billy as he undoes his fly, kicks his sneakers and jeans aside.

'So?'

'So what?'

A breeze blows by, rippling the water, rustling Billy's hair. 'What were you doing?'

Steve ducks his head. 'Couldn't sleep.'

Billy narrows his eyes—considering rather than mean—then he shakes his head. 'This is a pretty rad setup,' he says, looking over the pool, the yard, the house. The change in topic is dizzying. 'Where are your parents?'

'Europe,' Steve murmurs. He doesn't know anyone else whose parents spend whole summers in Europe. His dad probably wouldn't have gone if it wasn't half a working vacation but it doesn't make much difference. 

'Why aren't you with them?' Billy asks, kicking his feet in the water.

Steve shrugs and sits across from him, water cold on his hot feet. His dad hadn't been pleased that Steve didn't want to go to college and the thought of spending the whole summer being lectured hadn't been appealing. 

'Didn't want to go,' Steve says, simply.

Billy snorts. 'Man, I wouldn't pass up a free trip to Europe,' he says, then chugs his beer. Some spills down his chin, trickling down his neck. 'But having the house to yourself all summer is pretty cool.'

'Yeah,' Steve says, 'it is,' but it's mostly been lonely. With the kids at science camp and Nancy and Jonathan working their summer jobs, Steve's spent a lot of time alone. He's come to realise he doesn't like his own company that much. He's thought about getting a job to give him something to do but he keeps putting it off. He doesn't know why.

The sound of water splashing breaks him out of his thoughts. Billy has slid into the pool, sinking down deep, before he surges back up, spraying water everywhere. 

'You coming in?' he asks.

'I don't know,' Steve says. He doesn't feel much like swimming. But Billy is swimming over and grabbing his ankle, trying to pull him in. Steve kicks at him, a small smile winding its way onto his lips.

'Come on, pretty boy,' Billy says and Steve lets himself be pulled down.

He sinks and sinks, eyes shut tight, until he touches the bottom of the pool. He stays down until he can't hold his breath any longer and he comes back up, gasping. Billy is already at the other end of the pool, watching Steve. Inscrutable. Steve feels a strange pull in the bottom of his stomach and swims over.

'So, you haven't heard the rumours then?' Billy asks, squeezing his nose. Drops of water glitter on his eyelashes, run down his neck.

Steve stops beside Billy, wiping water out of his eyes. 'I've heard them.'

Billy's eyes widen. It's the first time Steve has seen him look surprised. It doesn't last long, though, as Billy schools his features into something neutral. Blank. 

He looks Steve up and down. 'Not afraid you're gonna catch something?'

Oh, Steve thinks, the rumours _are_ true. 'Catch what?' he asks.

Billy snorts. 'Don't play naïve,' he says, 'it doesn't suit you.'

Steve shrugs. He's not going to play into whatever Billy wants him to say. 'I don't care who you fuck, Hargrove,' he says, and pushes off the wall for another lap, leaving Billy looking surprised for the second time that night.

Later, they're lying on the deck chairs by the pool, staring up at a blanket of stars. Empty beer cans litter the ground and a pleasant fuzzy feeling infuses Steve's blood. It's warm but not suffocating, the sky is clear, and there's a sultry breeze raising goosebumps on his still wet skin.

Billy is sprawled on the other chair, eyes closed, something unguarded in his posture that unsettles Steve. He's never seen Billy like this. Steve takes the time to look at Billy, in a way he never allowed himself to before—too distracted by Billy's posturing, too closed off from letting himself, too caught up in wondering why he wants to. With the alcohol in his blood, he doesn't wonder why so much.

Billy's skin glistens under the moonlight, water pooling in his bellybutton, slicking the hair on his strong thighs, on his chest. His briefs are damp, clinging to him. Steve can clearly see the outline of his cock. He remembers what it looks like from showers after practice. How he'd pretended not to look.

Heat prickles under Steve's jaw and he cuts his gaze away. 

The silence is too much and so Steve says, 'Why weren't you at Vicki's party the other night?'

Billy opens his eyes. Gas-jet blue fixed on Steve. 'Thought you'd heard the rumours,' he says, brows drawn together. 

'I have,' Steve says, not looking at the way Billy's muscles shift beneath his skin as he sits up, thighs straddling the deck chair. 'But I figured you'd still go. I didn't think you'd care.'

'Don't act like you know me,' Billy says, though it lacks his usual snarl, the slur to his words undermining their sharpness.

'Whatever,' Steve says, looking back to the sky.

Billy huffs. 'Usually I would've gone. Just to, you know, piss everyone off or whatever.'

'So why didn't you?'

Billy rubs a hand over his face. 'Didn't feel like being called a faggot all night, OK? Get it enough at home.' His cheeks are flushed and he picks up his beer, gulping it down. Throat bobbing as he swallows. 

'Oh,' Steve says. He sits up, swings his legs over the side of the chair. It nearly unbalances and Steve has the sensation of pitching forward before he rights it. His heart thuds. 'Your dad?'

Billy wipes over his mouth and crushes his empty beer can, metal crumpling between his strong hands. 'Yeah.'

Steve bites his lip. 'Does he know you're…'

'Doubt I'd be sitting here if he did.'

Steve's eyes widen. His head feels thick and his stomach drops. 'You think he'd…do something?' Is that what Billy's saying.

Billy snorts. 'Relax, pretty boy. I meant he'd kick me out and maybe I'd finally leave this shithole.' He shakes his head, pushes his hair out of his face. 'He wouldn't…not that bad.' 

'OK.' Steve blinks. There's something under Billy's words. An implication that Steve can feel but can't quite grasp. It's not good. He knows that much.

An awkward silence falls between them. There's no breeze to rustle the trees, no nightbirds singing, just that heavy silence. It's suffocating. Billy stands, knocking the deck chair over. He doesn't right it.

Steve thinks he's going to leave and it makes something in him want to reach out, pull Billy back, but then Billy says, 'Got any more beer?' and Steve feels stupid.

'No,' he says, looking up at Billy from where he's still sitting, 'but my dad has whisky.'

Billy grins, wide and electric. 'Why didn't you say so earlier?'

—

There's music playing from a small portable radio Steve had dug up when Billy complained about the silence in the house. It's loud and brazen. Through the haze of beer and whisky Steve thinks how out of place it is in his dad's study. The heavy guitar and crashing drums jarring with the wood panelling and overpriced furniture.

It amuses Steve, distantly, as he shares a bottle of his dad's finest whisky with Billy. Another incongruity in the Harrington household, tonight.

Halfway through the bottle, Billy asks, 'D'you really not care?' gaze boring into Steve from across the room.

'About what?'

'Me.'

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. 'You?'

'Being...' Billy looks at Steve like he should know what he's not saying.

Steve stares. He feels slow and stupid. Can't figure what Billy means. 

'Gay.'

'Oh.' Steve swallows. 'No. It's...whatever, dude.' The alcohol lets him sound more casual than he feels. Explains the flush on his cheeks and the swish of his stomach.

Billy snorts. 'Yeah. Sure. Whatever.' He turns and runs his hand along the bookcase, fingers catching on the leather covers. He's got his jeans back on, but he's shirtless, shoulder blades rolling under his skin. 'Won't your dad be pissed?'

It takes Steve a moment to realise Billy means about them drinking in here, not that Billy's— 

'Probably,' Steve says, tracking Billy's movement around the room from behind his dad's desk. Bare legs sticking to the leather of the wingback chair.

Billy comes over and sits on the desk, takes the bottle of whisky from Steve. 'Well'—he puts his foot up on the arm of the chair, toes brushing Steve's elbow—'aren't you a rebel?' He drinks, eyes fixed on Steve. 

Steve pushes Billy off, thumb curling into the arch of his foot a little too long, but Billy doesn't seem to notice. He shoves his hands under his arms. 'Yeah. Regular James Dean me.'

Billy snorts and says something else but Steve's eyes slip closed, head tipped back, and Billy's voice sounds far away with sleep pulling him under.

—

Steve wakes the next morning with a pounding headache, his tongue stale and thick against the roof of his mouth, a film of dried sweat coating his skin. His neck is stiff and sore from sleeping in his father's wingback chair. He's only wearing briefs and a crumpled t-shirt. He frowns and runs a hand over his face, then regrets the movement.

The night before is a little blurry. He remembers going for a walk and finding Billy trying to break into the pool. He remembers inviting him home and then swimming and drinking beer. Remembers that he and Billy had made their way through an entire bottle of his dad's most expensive whisky, sitting in his dad's study, smoking his cigars. Fuck. His dad _is_ going to be pissed when he gets home.

Steve pushes himself out of the chair and gingerly makes his way out of the room, groping along the walls to keep himself upright, until he makes it to the bathroom. He doesn't throw up, but it's a near thing. He splashes water on his face, then dries it off with a soft towel. His reflection stares back, red-eyed and hair sticking up everywhere. 

He and Billy had talked, he knows that, but he doesn't remember much of what either of them said. He doesn't think it was important. Just a couple of drunk guys talking shit. He guesses Billy left at some point—he wasn't in the study and Steve can't hear any movement in the house—but he doesn't know if it was before or after he passed out. Doesn't matter, either way.

It's when he's brushing his teeth that he remembers the rumours he'd heard the other night, that Billy hadn't denied them. Had confirmed them, in fact. He spits into the sink and rinses his mouth. Billy Hargrove is gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Yes, I conveniently sent Steve's parents off to Europe and the kids off to science camp for summer ;D I just don't like writing big casts of characters??? And this was easier haha
> 
> I'm currently still on track for posting the next chapter on Sunday/Monday but I've crashed a bit energy-wise (I feel like I'm coming down with something the way I do when I've pushed myself) so it all depends how that goes over the next few days unfortunately :( apologies in advance if it goes up later!
> 
> You can find me, as always, on [tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/gothyringwald) :) ICYMI I have a moodboard for the fic [over here on tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/181820364931/gothyringwald-wicked-little-town-rated-e) :)


	3. now this is my idea of fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, thank you again for all your comments and kudos! I'm so chuffed you all like this fic so far :D
> 
> Please feel free to point out any spelling errors or typos

The little bell above the diner door jingles as someone comes in, or maybe it's someone leaving. Steve doesn't look over to see which or who it is; his gaze rests unfocussed on the plate of uneaten fries in front of him.

'I heard you were dancing with Vicki at her party the other night,' Nancy says from across the table.

Next to her Jonathan shifts in his seat, casts his eyes to his burger.

'Uh, yeah,' Steve says, 'for one song, I guess.'

Nancy is looking at him expectantly, like there might be more to the story to tell. There isn't, not about Vicki, anyway, so Steve remains silent. 

'Vicki's nice,' Nancy tries, unconvincingly.

'You hate Vicki,' Steve says. He knows what Nancy is doing—she thinks he should move on, find someone new; it's not that he doesn't want to but it's not that easy, is it? Usually he'd play along to keep her happy but today his head feels thick and his body is heavy and he wishes he'd stayed home in bed.

'She's not so bad,' Nancy says, looks to Jonathan who only shrugs helplessly.

'She's fine, I guess,' Steve says, and falls back into silence. His head rests on his elbow, and he's all but slumped over the table. He's not good company and he knows it.

He's saved from further conversation about Vicki's virtues when Jonathan says something about the movie they're going to see later—it's about space vampires, Steve thinks—and draws Nancy's attention away from Steve.

A pop song drones on the jukebox, the other patrons chatter, Nancy and Jonathan's voices drift in and out of Steve's awareness. The scent of greasy food turns his stomach. He sighs and pushes his plate away.

When the words 'Billy Hargrove' float past, Steve's stomach jolts and he snaps to attention.

'What about Billy?' Steve says so abruptly that Nancy gapes at him and Jonathan blinks. Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks.

'I just said have you heard about him,' Nancy says. 'The rumour, I mean.'

It's not like Nancy to gossip but Steve thinks she's only trying to draw him back into the conversation. Still, he squirms a little in his seat and says, 'Uh, yeah. Kimberly told me at Vicki's party.' And then Billy confirmed it, when they were swimming in Steve's pool, drinking his dad's whisky.

'He doesn't—' Nancy starts, then darts her eyes around, leans forward. She lowers her voice. 'He doesn't look gay.'

'How's he meant to look?' Steve snaps. He'd thought the same thing but hearing Nancy say it is different somehow. Makes him want to defend Billy.

Nancy blushes, mouth opening and hands fluttering, and Jonathan raises his brows at Steve.

'Sorry, Nance.' Steve runs a hand over his face. 'I didn't mean to— I didn't sleep well.'

Nancy frowns. 'Are you OK?'

'You don't look great,' Jonathan adds.

Steve huffs a laugh. 'Thanks,' he says, and then, 'I'm fine. Should probably go home and rest, though.' 

'Are you sure?' Nancy asks. 'What about the movie?'

'It's meant to be really good,' Jonathan says.

Steve nods and slides out of the booth. Something in him lightens at the thought of not spending the next few hours wondering if Nancy and Jonathan are secretly wishing he isn't there so they can make out or cuddle or whatever. They don't sit at the back of the theatre when Steve goes with them—Steve always used to pull Nancy into the back row and she would come willingly. He misses it but he's not sure if it's Nancy he misses, anymore, or just having someone to make out with. The thought of having someone, period.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' he says, taking out his wallet and leaving a crumpled bill on the table to cover his share. He waves at Nancy and Jonathan—Nancy looks concerned, Jonathan might look relieved—and leaves the diner.

The humidity hits him as soon as he steps outside, making him feel more sluggish. He wipes a hand over his brow and makes his way to his car.

'Hey, Harrington,' he hears, stopping him in his tracks. 

Tommy and Carol are leaning by a car Steve doesn't recognise and Tommy is waving Steve over.

Steve considers flipping Tommy off and driving home but, though they're definitely still not friends, they're on better terms and it's not like Steve has anything else to do.

'What do you want?' Steve asks as he walks over. He slides his sunglasses on, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare.

'You look like shit.' Tommy grins and Carol doesn't even bother to hide her smirk.

Steve rolls his eyes. 'If you just called me over here to insult me…'

Tommy snorts and says, 'What do you think?' nodding at the car.

'This yours?' 

'Yeah,' Tommy says, proudly, 'birthday present from the old man.'

The car is secondhand, Steve can tell; a little beat up, a little rusted. But Tommy is grinning wider now so Steve says, 'It's cool.' He crosses his arms. 'Now you don't need to bum rides from everyone else.'

Tommy's grin fades into a glare and Carol snickers. 

'We're all going for a drive,' Carol says, smacking her gum, 'wanna come with us?'

Steve peers into the car; Lori and Ben sit in the backseat holding hands and Steve's stomach plummets. He'd been a third wheel with Nancy and Jonathan—there's no way he's going to sign himself up for being a fifth wheel. Especially not with this crowd. 

'Nah, I'll pass. Have fun, though.'

'Suit yourself, man,' Tommy says. 'Have fun jerking off!'

Steve does flip him off then and walks back to his own car, feeling so weighed down he thinks he could sink right through the ground. He shakes himself and starts his car, taking off just a little too fast.

When he gets home, he stands in the door, staring up at the picture of flying geese his mother loves, and almost wishes he'd gone to the movies, after all. What's he going to do for the rest of the day? He pushes himself to move forward, into the empty house, and up the stairs. 

He whiles away the afternoon and early evening tidying his room, flipping through some magazines, thinking about doing laundry, before finally going downstairs and turning on the TV. Nothing catches his interest as he cycles endlessly through the channels but he keeps casting glances at his phone. The kids are at camp, Nancy and Jonathan are at the movies, but there is one person he could call. 

No. He turns back to the television. No matter how bored, or how lonely he is, he's not going to call Billy Hargrove. It's not happening.

Without thinking, he reaches over and picks up the phone, starts to dial. He sets the phone back in its cradle and scrubs a hand over his face. He's being ridiculous.

In the middle of an AT&T commercial— _reach out and touch someone_ , the jingle tells him—he picks up the phone and dials, lets it ring and ring until someone picks up and says, 'Hawkins Morgue. You stab 'em, we slab 'em.'

Steve blinks and then he laughs. 'Hey, it's Steve,' he says, 'wanna hang out?'

There's silence for a few moments—Steve's heart pitter-patters and his palms tingle—before Billy says, 'Yeah, I guess.'

Steve rolls his eyes. 'Cool, uh…' He looks around his dark, empty house and says, 'Meet me by the school. I don't feel like staying home.'

—

Billy is waiting when Steve pulls up, standing under a streetlight, cigarette in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his jeans. His hair is pulled back—a concession to the heat, Steve supposes—and the sight stops Steve short. It makes Billy look younger, face framed by one or two wayward curls, or maybe it's only how he hasn't noticed Steve is here, yet, isn't on his guard.

Steve clears his throat as he gets out of the car and Billy looks over. His whole posture transforms, like he's another person entirely now that Steve is here. Shoulders squared, chest pushed out, face impassive. The movement makes the yellow light play over his biceps, exposed by his faded black tank. 

Nancy's words— _Billy doesn't look gay_ —echo in Steve's head. He tugs at his own shirt and shuffles over.

'You took your time,' Billy says, crushing his cigarette beneath the heel of his boot.

Steve runs a hand over the back of his neck. 'I, uh, wanted to shower,' he says and feels foolish. Exposed, somehow. He doesn't know why he should. It's hot. He was sweaty. 'It's hot,' he says and Billy merely arches a brow in response. Steve's face warms.

'So, what are we doing?' Billy says.

It surprises Steve. Billy doesn't seem like someone to ask that. Seems like he's usually the one telling, not asking. But, then again, what does Steve know?

Steve shrugs. 'I don't care.' He sinks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched. He looks up at the sky. It's clear, stars winking, the moon fat and yellow. 'We could go for a walk. It's a nice night.'

A strange look passes over Billy's face, and Steve thinks maybe suggesting a walk was too weird, but then Billy moves into shadow and when he's back in the light, the look is gone. 

'Got any booze?' he asks.

Steve snorts, softly, and reaches into his car. He produces a half-empty bottle of whisky, which Billy snatches out of his hands, before he walks off, leaving Steve staring after him.

'Come on,' Billy says, jerking his head, and Steve jogs the few paces to catch up to him.

They walk in silence for a little while, moving in and out of the shadows at the edge of town, passing the bottle between them, footsteps slapping on the pavement. They're close enough that Steve can _feel_ Billy's presence beside him, energy radiating off of him, humming between the scant inches separating their hands as they swing between their bodies. It makes Steve's hair stand on end, makes something thrum behind his ribs. 

He glances sidelong at Billy. 'Why'd you move to Hawkins?' Steve asks. He's gleaned snippets from Max, but nothing like a full story, and he's curious.

Billy licks his lips. They shine with spit and whisky, impossibly pink. 'I messed this kid up for talking shit about me,' he says, the way you might say _I had a burger for lunch_. 'It was pretty bad.'

Steve blinks, unbalanced by Billy's candour. 'Seriously?'

'Yeah.'

'What'd he say?'

'Said he'd tell the whole school I was a queer,' Billy says. A muscle ticks in his temple as he clenches his jaw. 'And I didn't want him to.'

'Right,' Steve says. He's not sure if he's shocked—he shouldn't be. After all, he knows intimately the danger that lurks within Billy—but he feels wrong-footed. Maybe he's forgotten what Billy is really like under the influence of whisky and moonlight. Maybe it's that he feels bad for Billy or maybe some part of him understands why Billy did it.

But there must be some judgement in his voice because Billy rounds on him, stops dead in front of him. 'Look, I did what I had to,' he says, pointing a finger at Steve. 'If he told everyone, my dad could've found out. And I don't want— My dad can't find out. OK?'

'OK,' Steve says, hands raised, and then, 'Quit hogging the bottle,' and he swipes the whisky from Billy.

Billy shakes his head. 'I don't get you, Harrington.'

'What's there to get?' Steve asks, taking a long pull from the bottle. The whisky burns. He relishes it.

'Nothing, I guess,' Billy says.

Steve thinks about the rumour that only he knows is true, wonders at how restrained Billy seems in all of this and asks, 'So, how come you didn't beat up Tommy? When, you know...'

Billy turns his clear gaze on Steve and simply says, 'Everyone already knew,' before he strides off.

Any other questions Steve might have—did the rumour really spread here from California, what will Billy do if his dad does find out—fizzle out. He catches up, knocks their shoulders together, earning him a strange smile from Billy, and passes the bottle back. They keep on walking past trees that Steve doesn't even think to keep a close eye on, tonight, the air heavy and damp, the streets quiet.

When they finish the bottle, Billy pitches it at a wall, looking satisfied when it smashes into thousands of glittering shards. 'I'm bored,' he says.

'Gee, thanks.'

'I need to… _do_ something, Harrington.' Billy looks like he's about to vibrate out of his skin, not loosened by alcohol the way Steve is. 

Steve watches Billy climb a tree, his jeans pulled tight and slipping low. He casts about for something they can do and then he's saying, 'How d'you feel about boats?'

Billy jumps down, the thud of his boots reverberating in the street. 'Boats?'

'Yeah, boats,' Steve says. He turns and starts to walk back toward the car. Billy follows.

—

'A country club?' Billy snorts, looking up at the wrought iron gates, the words Hawkins Country Club spelt out in a curling script above them. He turns to Steve, hands on his hips. 'Are you serious?'

'Follow me,' Steve says and leads Billy to where there is a gap in the hedge surrounding the grounds. He used to sneak in this way with Tommy and Carol and whichever girl he was seeing at the time. 

'Breaking and entering, Harrington?' Billy _tsks_ , ducking under the hedge. 'What would daddy say?' 

'I don't give a shit,' Steve says, and finds that he doesn't. 

Billy straightens his shirt, then picks leaves out of his hair, looking at each one like it's personally offended him. One escapes his attentions, stuck just behind his ear. It makes something warm wash through Steve, that little leaf nestled in Billy's curls; he turns away and doesn't tell Billy.

'This way,' Steve says.

They walk along the drive, flat manicured lawns either side, up to the main building. It's a sprawling structure that is meant to look Victorian but was really built in the 1950s, fronted by a manmade lake. Steve stops beside it and sucks in a deep breath of night air, letting it settle in his lungs, as he watches the ripples on the water.

'We came all the way out here to see a lake?' Billy says, nose scrunched up.

'No.' Steve rolls his eyes and points to the boathouse across the lake. 'We're nearly there,' he says and walks off. His sneakers crunch in the gravel, Billy's footfalls a beat behind his. 

The boathouse is padlocked and for a moment Steve thinks of finding a rock to break it off but then he looks at Billy and says, 'Hey, you got a knife or something?'

'Why would I have a knife?'

Steve holds out his hand, waggling his fingers. Billy sighs and digs out a pocket knife, laying it in Steve's palm. The tips of his fingers brush Steve's skin, leaving it tingling. Steve pops the knife open, blade glinting, and jemmies the lock.

'Steve Harrington, juvenile delinquent, huh?'

Steve winks. 'Something like that.' His face warms when Billy stares at him, expression inscrutable. He clears his throat and turns back to the lock.

'Got it,' he says, feeling the mechanism inside give way. He hands the pocket knife back to Billy and eases the door open.

It's dark inside, but Steve doesn't turn on the light, just in case. There is the scent of mildew and varnish, the sound of water lapping and a nightbird singing in the distance. It's cooler than outside.

'Help me with this,' Steve says, reaching up to take hold of a rowboat by the bow. 

'Is your dad a member here?' Billy asks as he and Steve carry the boat to the dock.

Steve looks back at him. 'If I say yes how much shit will you give me?'

Billy grins and it's answer enough for Steve.

They manage to get the boat into the water without incident; Billy fits the oars into the oarlocks under Steve's instruction, then sits, taking hold of them.

Steve clambers into the boat and eyes Billy's awkward hold on the oars. 'Have you ever rowed before?' he asks.

'Oh, yeah, all the time,' Billy says, 'I was captain of the fucking rowing team.'

'I'll bet you were,' Steve says on a laugh. 'But I think I should row.' 

'No, I want to—' Billy's brows knit together as Steve stands and the boat rocks. 'Hey, what are you doing?'

'Scoot,' Steve says.

Billy glares up at him, hands gripped tight on the oars, but eventually relents, saying, 'Yeah, guess you could use the workout.'

'Thanks.' Steve waves Billy into the seat at the stern.

The oars slice through the water, whooshing and splashing, as Steve pulls. He hasn't rowed in ages and he can feel his muscles working, feel where they'll probably ache in the morning. But for now he doesn't care, revels in the feel of doing something.

Billy takes his hair down, wrapping the rubber band he'd pulled it back with around his wrist, and runs a hand through his curls, shaking them out. 'Why do you keep hanging out with me?' he asks. 

The question unbalances Steve. He gives a little shrug and says, 'Everything else is boring.' It's true but it's only part of it. The rest…he can't explain. Or maybe doesn't want to.

Billy huffs, looks out across the lake. He reaches into the water, letting his hand skim the surface. Moonlight glints off his earring, highlights the slope of his jaw, catches on his eyelashes. He turns back and flicks Steve with water. 

'Hey!' Steve kicks at Billy.

Billy smirks. He looks up at the sky, eyes shining. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd think this was…'

Steve's stomach jolts. 'You'd think this was what?'

An owl calls out, its song mournful in the thick night, insects hum like electricity buzzing. Billy swallows and picks at a thread in his jeans. 'Nothing.'

The oars come down into the water, and back up again. 'You're kinda weird, you know?'

'Says the guy who brought me rowing.'

'You said you wanted to do something.'

'You're not even letting me row,' Billy says. Before Steve can reply, Billy's leaning over the edge of the boat, peering down into the dark water. 'How deep you think it is?'

'I don't know. Why?'

Steve only has a moment to register the devilish grin on Billy's face before the world turns upside down and he's submerged in cold water. It rushes all around him and he comes up spluttering. He can't see Billy anywhere. 

'Billy,' Steve calls, treading water, breathless. 'Billy!'

There are a few terrible moments where Steve thinks Billy's drowned and, even though it would be Billy's own fault, Steve's chest tightens and he feels like he's going to puke. Could Billy even drown this quickly? 

But then Billy comes up out of the water, droplets spraying everywhere, still grinning like a lunatic.

'Oh my god, you asshole,' Steve says, swimming over and shoving Billy, 'I thought you'd drowned.'

'Not that easy to get rid of me,' Billy says and then he ducks down, getting a mouthful of water, and spits it right at Steve.

'Ugh,' Steve says, wiping at his face. 'Just help me get this boat back, will you?' He grabs one end of the boat and Billy takes the other.

When the boat is turned halfway, the beam of a flashlight cuts through the dark and a gruff voice calls out, 'Hey, what's going on down there?'

'Shit,' Steve says, heart thudding, 'let's go.' He drops the boat with a splash and looks over at Billy. His eyes are alight with mischief and it makes something in Steve catch fire. 

'Come on,' Steve says, reaching over and grabbing Billy's wrist. He tugs and they swim toward the shore, the security guard's flashlight trailing their path through the water and across the grass as they splash out and make a run for it.

'Now this is my idea of fun,' Billy yells and Steve can't help but secretly agree. 

The flashlight follows them still as they run through the country club's grounds, feet pounding as hard as Steve's heart. It's exhilarating. When the beam of light closes in on them, Steve pulls Billy behind a tree. He's panting and he's wet and maybe they're standing way too close but, fuck, he feels good.

Billy is breathing heavily, too, eyes shining. He snickers, a little too loud, when the security guard ambles past and Steve shoots out his hand, clamping it over Billy's mouth. Billy licks at his palm and a spike of heat shoots through Steve.

'Gross,' he whispers, wiping his hand off on his wet jeans.

Billy only grins. But the grin fades slowly as he looks at Steve, lips parting, tongue darting out. Steve's heart jumps and he feels a tug beneath his sternum, pulling at him. He takes a step back and then another.

'I think it's safe, now,' he says, clearing his throat, 'come on.' He moves out of the shadows, Billy close behind him, when it seems like the coast is clear. 

He waves Billy on but then he hears, 'You! Stop!' and the chase is on again.

'I think you might be a bad influence on me, Harrington,' Billy yells as they're running down the drive, the security guard eating their dirt.

Steve laughs and finds that he can't stop. He hasn't felt this light in forever. He feels like he's soaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Like I said, your comments (& kudos) mean so much to me and I reply to all of them, even if it takes me a little while sometimes (sorry!)
> 
> I've been tinkering at this all week so hopefully I didn't overdo it
> 
> I think I was too ambitious initially so I've decided to update once a week on Monday mornings/afternoons Australian time, which is Sunday night in the US—with this new schedule the fic should be completed by the end of February, which is the end of summer for me, so that works well! (I will probably take a week or two break in the middle of February so I can participate in the Harringrove Week of Love and not overwhelm myself)
> 
> The movie Nancy and Jonathan were going to go see with Steve is Lifeforce because it's one of the movies on the marquee for the cinema in Starcourt Mall and, also, it's a cool film! 
> 
> As always you can find me on [tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/gothyringwald) :) And I have [a moodboard for the fic](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/181790228560/wicked-little-town-rated-e-wip-the-summer) on tumblr ICYMI :)


	4. i like what i like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how happy I am you're all enjoying this fic??? Thanks again for the comments/kudos! <3333
> 
> And thanks to socknonny for looking this and the other chapters over for me <333

'Jesus, Harrington,' Billy says, poking at the pile of cassettes on Steve's desk, 'you have the most pathetic taste in music.'

'Thanks,' Steve deadpans. He scratches his stomach.

His clothes dried on the way home but they sit uncomfortably on him, now, so he strips off his shirt and searches for a clean one. It's been a while since he's done laundry. 

He's hyper aware of Billy behind him, sitting at his desk, and wonders if Billy is watching him. If Billy would even want to. Sometimes Steve thinks he does but just because Billy's into guys, doesn't mean he wants to look at Steve.

'Seriously'—the desk chair creaks as Billy swivels back and forth—'it's even worse than Max's.'

Steve finds a dark green shirt at the bottom of a pile of what are possibly clean clothes. He brings the shirt to his nose. Sniffs. It smells clean. He shrugs it on and turns to face Billy, sprawled in the desk chair, hair riotous and eyes glinting in the soft light of Steve's bedside lamp.

When Steve had driven them back from the country club, he'd asked Billy, 'Where to now?' still riding the high of breaking in and being chased away.

Billy had answered, 'Wherever, just don't take me home,' in a moment of candour that had left Steve feeling unguarded. Turned about, like the capsized boat. He couldn't think of anywhere else they could go, so drove them back to his house, and told Billy he could stay over if he wanted.

'Phil Collins, Wham!'—Billy makes a face, nose scrunched up and tongue sticking out—'the soundtrack to _Footloose_. The soundtrack to _Risky Business_. More Phil Collins.' He looks up and shakes his head, as if he's disappointed. 'Guess I shouldn't have expected better from a preppy boy like you, huh?'

Too loose and content to be insulted, Steve only shrugs and says, 'I like what I like.' He flops onto his bed, shirt slipping up. His mattress bounces under his weight and he pretends it's the movement that makes his stomach swish around, and not how Billy's ankle keeps brushing the top of his foot.

He watches Billy swivel—left right, left right, back and forth, never still—and his stomach jumps when Billy's gaze catches his. Neither of them look away. The air feels heavy, charged. Steve sucks in a breath and props himself on his elbows. 

He's not sure what's going to happen but it feels like it does before a storm and—

'It's too quiet,' Billy says. He jumps up, the chair whirling and hitting the desk with a dull thunk, and Steve lets out the breath he'd been holding in one long whoosh. Billy turns to Steve's dresser, picks up the baseball sitting next to Steve's Little League trophy, turning it over in his palms. He throws it in the air, catches it, throws it again. Over and over.

Steve watches him through half-lidded eyes, still feeling like he's on the edge of something. 'Feel free to put one of those tapes on,' he says with a lazy smirk.

'I'm not that desperate,' Billy says. He kicks Steve's shin and Steve kicks back.

'Fuck off,' Steve says, sitting, and then, 'We could watch a movie?'

'Is your taste in movies any better than your taste in music?'

Steve shrugs. Most of the tapes in the house are his mom's workout videos—Jane Fonda and jazzercise—but he has a few movies. 'I've got _Rocky_ ,' he says, 'or we can see if there's anything on TV.'

' _Rocky_ 's fine,' Billy says. He throws the ball at Steve and Steve catches it easily. 

'I'm glad you approve,' Steve says.

' _Rocky III_ 's the best, though.'

'Whatever,' Steve says, pushing himself to his feet. He reaches around Billy to put the baseball back on his dresser and has to suppress a shiver as Billy's body heat radiates between them. He steps back, face warm. 

'Wanna watch it or not?' he asks and doesn't look back as he walks out of his room.

—

The television soaks the room in cathode ray glow, sucking the colour out of everything with its cool light. On the screen, Sylvester Stallone punches a carcass, runs up the stairs, kisses Talia Shire.

Steve knows every scene blow for blow, but tonight he can't concentrate on any of it. He's not sure if it's because of how nothing has held his interest since summer set in, or if it's because Billy is sitting beside him. They're not close but Billy's legs are splayed and his knee touches Steve's and Steve has thought about moving at least five times but he doesn't want to draw attention to himself.

He's so caught up in the press of Billy's knee and wondering if he should he move that when Billy reaches across to the bowl of popcorn, Steve startles, heart skittering. 

'You're jumpy,' Billy says, saving the popcorn from going everywhere, then shoving a handful in his mouth. 'What's got into you?'

'Nothing,' Steve says and then, 'Do you want another drink? More pop, beer?'

Billy holds up his can of Cherry Coke, waggles it. 'Still haven't finished my soda,' he says, emphasis on soda, lips tilted in a sly smirk. 

Steve rolls his eyes but it's an automatic gesture more than true annoyance. 'Right,' he says and turns back to the TV, drinks his own Coke, sans cherry.

Billy knocks his knee against Steve's. 'You going to see IV when it comes out?'

'Hm?' Steve shifts his leg away.

' _Rocky IV_ ,' Billy says, 'are you going to see it?'

'Oh, yeah, probably. I've seen all the others.' Steve steals a glance at Billy; his profile is limned in silver-blue. 'Are you?' 

Billy nods. 'Yeah. Looks good.'

Steve could say, 'Let's go together,' and it would be totally normal. He'd said the same thing about dozens of movies to Tommy. But he doesn't. He only says, 'Cool,' his stomach in knots.

When Billy grunts and crosses his arms, Steve gets the overwhelming feeling it was the wrong thing to say.

—

Steve wakes with a crick in his neck and to the sound of the television hissing static. Dawn light slants through gaps in the vertical blinds, painting thick gold bands across the carpet. Steve rolls his shoulders and lets out a soft groan as his muscles pull.

Billy is slumped beside him, snoring lightly, the corner of his mouth glistening with drool. His knee is still pressed to Steve's and the back of his hand is hot against Steve's thigh. Burning.

A lock of hair has fallen into his face and Steve reaches out, unthinking, fingertips brushing the edge of a curl. But then Billy snuffles in his sleep and Steve jerks his hand back, realising what he was about to do. 

The next moment, Billy wakes—no transition between asleep and alert—and stretches his arms above his head.

Steve stands and turns the television off. 'Good morning,' he says, tucking his hands under his arms.

'Morning,' Billy says, voice rough. He's looking up at Steve with too-clear eyes and Steve feels adrift. Cut loose.

Steve digs his fingers into his sides and cuts his gaze away. 'You hungry? I've got…cereal. Of some kind.' He pauses. 'I hope.'

Billy snorts. 'As appetising as that sounds, I'll pass.' He stands and pushes a hand through his hair. 'I should get going. I've got work.'

'Work?'

'Yeah, work. Some of us actually work for a living.' 

Steve shifts his weight. 'Right. At Nelson's.' He's seen Billy at the repair shop adjoining the gas station, the sleeves of his coveralls rolled up, grease smudged on his face, brow shining with sweat.

'At Nelson's,' Billy repeats, an amused edge to his voice. He walks to the door, Steve trailing after him, and pulls his boots on. 

Steve leans against the console table, arms hugged around his middle. The ease between he and Billy seems to have dwindled overnight but he doesn't want to spend the whole day alone, so he says, 'Do you wanna come over later?' and hopes he doesn't sound too eager.

Billy bites his thumbnail. 'Maybe.' He opens the door and waves with two fingers. 'Later, Harrington.'

'Later,' Steve says to the back of the door, his heart in his throat.

—

At 5.15 the doorbell rings. Steve's pulse leaps. He'd been thinking about going out, getting some food, maybe seeing if Nancy and Jonathan were free, anything so he could pretend he wasn't waiting to see if Billy would show up.

He launches himself off the couch, limbs tingling as he hurries through the house. When he opens the door, Billy is on the other side wearing grimy coveralls and the hint of a smile. 

'Did you come straight from work?' Steve asks, one hand propped on the doorframe.

'No, I always dress like this,' Billy says, and then, 'You said I could come over,' and it's almost a question. He's staring at Steve expectantly and it takes Steve a moment too long to realise he's blocking the doorway.

'Right,' Steve says and steps aside, a flush crawling up his neck. 'Come in.'

The Camaro is parked in the drive, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Steve considers asking Billy to move it— _what will the neighbours think_ —but he doesn't. 'You got your car back,' he says as Billy shoulders past, bringing the scent of motor oil and gasoline with him.

'Yeah,' Billy replies absently. He kicks off his boots and moves through the house, straight to the living room, like he belongs here. 

Steve follows him, two steps behind. 'Will your dad be pissed if you're not home for dinner?' he asks. 

Families eat dinner together, or so Steve has been told. Even when all the Harringtons are under one roof, it's rare to find them at the dining table at the same time.

Billy shrugs. 'Maybe. But Max is at camp,' he says, as though it's an explanation Steve should understand. 'And I paid my rent on time. That should keep him happy.'

'You pay rent?'

'What is this, twenty questions?' Billy huffs. 'I'm 18, I've got a job. I pay my own way.' He runs his fingers—there's grease under his nails and in the creases of his skin—along the rim of one of Steve's mom's crystal vases. He looks at Steve. 'We weren't all born with silver spoons in our mouths.'

Steve flushes. He's never felt guilty for having money. Never felt ashamed. But, then, Billy makes him feel all sorts of things he's never felt before. 'I was just about to get something to eat. You hungry?'

'I could eat.' Billy turns to look up at a painting on the wall. It's all smudges of colour that Steve's never really gotten but his mother loves it. Billy unzips his coveralls, shrugs his arms out of the sleeves and ties them around his waist. It leaves him in a white tank top that dips low and hugs tight.

'Cool,' Steve says slowly, mouth dry, 'how about pizza?'

'Pizza's good. But you'd better not like anchovies.'

'Gross.' Steve screws his nose up. 'No way.'

'Well, at least you have decent taste in pizza,' Billy says, smirking.

Steve rolls his eyes and calls Perry's Pizza.

They eat outside, straight from the box, drinking beer as the sun sinks into the forest. There's a portable radio on the table between them. Steve let Billy choose the station because he doesn’t care if there's music playing or not. But Billy seems to hate the quiet. Always needs some kind of noise. 

Steve wonders if that’s what he is for Billy. A distraction from the rumour, from the banality of Hawkins. If Billy is just biding his time hanging out with Steve.

A piece of pepperoni hits Steve's face. 'Hey.' He wipes his face, then wipes his hand on his leg. 'What was that for?'

The edge of Billy's lip ticks up and he shoves another slice of pizza in his mouth. 'You are way too easy, dude,' he says around a mouthful of dough and cheese. He chugs his beer and wipes over his mouth. He misses a smudge of sauce in the corner of his lips and Steve reaches forward, without thinking, to wipe it away.

Billy's look of surprise freezes Steve, his thumb caught at the edge of Billy's mouth, fingers tucked under his chin. Stubble tickles his fingertips.

Steve's heart thuds. He wipes his hand on his shorts and stands, nearly knocking over his chair. 'You, uh…you wanna go for a swim?'

'Yeah,' Billy says, voice oddly even.

'Cool,' Steve says. Why can't he look away from Billy? He steps back and turns toward the pool. 'Last one in has to clear up,' he says and that's all the warning he gives before he strips off his shirt and dives into the pool.

Steve hears Billy yell an indignant, 'Hey!' as he surges back up, breathless and dizzy.

At the edge of the pool Billy is watching Steve, a breeze tangling through his hair. He strips off, pushing his jeans down his hips and kicking them away. 'Didn't take you for a cheater,' he says and then he jumps in, legs tucked up like a cannonball.

Steve laughs and splashes Billy. 'I didn't cheat, you're just too slow.' 

'I'll show you slow,' Billy says and then he tackles Steve, arms tight about Steve's waist.

Steve goes under willingly and lets the water wash any lingering weirdness away.

—

'I'm bored.' Billy stretches out on the deck chair beside Steve's, wearing a borrowed pair of swim trunks. They're a little too tight for him, hugging his thighs, cutting into the jut of his hipbones. There is a pink tinge to his tan skin, which glistens with sweat in the honeyed evening light. His spine pops as he stretches, lithe but impatient like a temperamental cat.

Steve watches him from behind the safety of his dark sunglasses. He feels washed out in that way he gets after being in the water for a while. But there is also a sense of anticipation, crackling along his skin like heat lightning.

'Tell me a secret,' Billy says.

Steve blinks. He was expecting Billy to demand something of him—food, beer, _entertain me, Harrington_ —but not this. 'Sure, OK,' he says, blood pricking, 'and then I can braid your hair if you like.'

Billy glances at Steve sideways. 'Very cute.' He pillows his head on his arms, arching his back, and closes his eyes. 'You know mine. Tell me one of yours.'

Steve's gaze drifts down the ladder of Billy's ribs. He shifts, chair creaking beneath him. 'You're serious?'

'Yeah, make it a good one.' Billy licks his lips. 'Something no one knows.'

'Um.' Steve is floundering. Billy keeps surprising him and he's not sure he can take many more surprises.

Billy takes his confused silence for hesitance and says, 'What? Don't have any?'

'Well…' Steve has plenty of secrets. But which can he tell? 

'Everyone has secrets, Harrington.'

'I know.' Steve sits, swings his legs over the side of the chair for something to do. Billy does the same and their shins press together, the sides of their feet touching.

There is a furrow in Billy's brow as he stares Steve down; fierceness in his eyes but vulnerability too. It hits Steve that Billy isn't asking this for kicks. As a way to pass the time. The teenage population of Hawkins knows Billy Hargrove's secret but only as a rumour. Steve holds the truth. Was given the truth. And now he needs to give it back.

His mind races. _Sometimes I fight monsters_ , he thinks, staring up at the cotton candy sky so he doesn't have to look at Billy. _I have no idea what I want to do with my life. Everyone else is moving forward and I don't know how. I think I'm unlovable._ But it's not any of these that he tells Billy. 

Instead, before he's even truly aware of the secret himself, he's leaning forward and pressing his lips to Billy's. Tentative at first, but soon he's parting his lips and slipping his tongue into Billy's mouth. 

Billy reaches for him, hands hot on Steve's thighs, fingers creeping under the hem of his shorts. He kisses back as hot and slow as the summer evening and Steve moans, heart thumping, cradling Billy's jaw in his palms. It seems like forever since he's been kissed at all, let alone like this.

They part slowly, reluctantly, and Steve doesn't know if he'll ever catch his breath. 'Um.' He licks his lips, lets his hands fall from Billy's face.

Billy's eyes are wide—blue like the hottest part of a flame almost swallowed by black—and his cheeks are flushed. 'Well, shit,' he says, stunned expression giving way to a grin, 'that's some secret, Harrington,' and he kisses Steve again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <333 I've been pretty out of it this week so hopefully this chapter makes sense haha I feel a bit weird about this one.
> 
> I've only seen the first Rocky film (which...was not at ALL what I was expecting. It made me CRY??? And then I wondered how many other films I've been misjudging...) so I just randomly decided III is Billy's favourite for no actual reason. 
> 
> Also there’s no significance to me picking Rocky except it’s a film I think they’d both like and IV came out in '85 so it let me have that bit with Billy asking Steve if he's going to see it. Plus I usually like to only reference movies I’ve seen but I have a hard time picking movies I think both Steve and Billy would be into that I’ve also seen haha anyway, sorry. I have weirdly specific headcanons about what movies they would like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> As always, please feel free to come find me on [tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) and/or [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/gothyringwald). I know things are quieter these days, but I'm always happy to chat or whatever!


	5. do you have a date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the comments/kudos/love! Gosh. I'm honestly a little overwhelmed???? But happily so!
> 
> And thanks again to socknonny for being an awesome beta/cheerleader :)
> 
> Oh, and the E rating finally comes into play this chapter! And I changed the tags to be a bit more specific

Steve spritzes hairspray over his hair, pushes an errant strand into place, then sprays again. The fine mist leaves a sticky coating on his skin, the scent cloying in the close air of the bathroom, catching in the back of his throat. But there's something about the process that's soothing. Familiar. 

He sprays once more, studying his hair from both sides in the mirror for any flyaways. Satisfied, he stows the hairspray in the cabinet and washes his hands. 

A glance at his watch tells him Billy won't be here for at least another ten minutes. It seems both too close and too far away. Steve doesn't know what this thing is with Billy, what he wants it to be. What it even _can_ be. But he knows that he's drawn to Billy, that being around him is dizzying in the best way. Makes Steve feel like he's hurtling toward _something_ and he's pretty sure it's something good. Maybe he can figure out the rest later.

He straightens his collar, tucks his shirt into his jeans, and heads into his room. Even with the air-conditioning blasting it's stifling in his house. Suffocating. So he decides to go downstairs and wait outside. Get some fresh air.

When he opens the door he comes face to face with Nancy and Jonathan. Nancy has her hand raised, as though she was about to knock and she blinks twice.

Steve's stomach sinks. 'Hi,' he says. There's a sick feeling in his gut like he's been caught doing something wrong. He glances behind Nancy and Jonathan and hopes Billy is late.

'Hey,' Nancy says. Her eyes are wide, but her mouth is curved in a pleased, if surprised, smile. 'Is this a bad time?'

'Well,' Steve starts, casting about for an excuse that doesn't involve the entire truth, 'I was just on my way out.' He lifts a hand to run it through his hair, then stops, not wanting to mess it up, so he shoves his hand in the pocket of his jeans. He sucks in a breath. 'Is everything OK?'

'Yes, we just thought…we haven't seen you in a few days. We thought we'd see if you wanted to do something.' Nancy is still smiling, and Jonathan isn't quite looking at Steve, but he never does.

'Oh,' Steve says. 'Thanks. Maybe another time? I— I'm late.' He hates lying to Nancy but he needs them to leave before Billy gets here.

'That's fine—' Jonathan starts, just as Nancy says, 'Do you have a date?'

Steve's heart gives a kick. 'Um…why?'

'You're wearing your burgundy shirt, so I thought…' She bites her lip, cheeks going pink. She glances at Jonathan who shifts, studying a crack in the ground.

A car goes past, seems to slow down, and Steve's nerves skitter but it's no one he knows. He crosses his arms over his stomach, feels heat crawl up his neck. 'Oh, well, I…' He swallows, unsure what to say. Even if he was certain that hanging out with Billy, tonight, counts as a date, he couldn't tell Nancy or Jonathan. Could he?

But he's saved from having to explain when Jonathan says, 'We should let you go, so you're not too late,' stepping back and tugging lightly on Nancy's hand.

'Yes,' Nancy says slowly, caught between looking at Steve and turning back to Jonathan. A small frown creases her brow. 'We'll do something else. Soon.' She shakes her head, and adds, 'Bye,' before she follows Jonathan back to where his car is parked on the street.

'Bye,' Steve says, waving and moving toward the BMW, as though he's going to get in and drive off. He lets out a long breath when Jonathan's car rattles out of sight, shoulders slumping.

He runs a hand over his face and tilts his head back. The scent of his mother's jasmine—planted when Steve was ten and his mother decided, for about a month, she would be the kind of woman who gardened—fills his nose, dizzying in the hot air. He wonders if he was acting strange or suspicious. If Nancy could tell he was lying.

Moments later Billy walks up the drive, jeans as tight as ever, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. He dips his head at Steve, the curl over his forehead bouncing.

Steve's stomach flutters. 'Hey,' he says.

'Hey.' Billy licks his too-pink lips. 'I waited until Byers and Wheeler left. Figured you wouldn't want to be seen together.'

Steve doesn't, but with the words spoken, guilt washes through him. There's nothing to say, though, so he gives a small apologetic shrug and ducks his head. Shit. What is he doing? He had no idea what he was doing when he kissed Billy, yesterday, only that it felt inevitable. That it was the first thing all summer that sat right in him. And it still does, but doubt niggles at him.

Steve sighs, still not looking at Billy. 'What's with the boombox?' he asks, finally, nodding at Billy's hand clenched tight around the handle.

Billy glances down at the boombox, like he's just remembered it's there. 'Dad threatened to throw it out,' he says. 'Figured he can't throw it out if I've got it with me.'

'No,' Steve says, his chest going tight, 'I guess not.'

He and Billy stand by the car, looking at each other, and Steve still isn't sure what to do. It had been surprisingly easy between them after the first kiss, yesterday. They'd made out for ages under the setting sun, kisses growing heated as the air around them cooled. But, now, it feels strained. Awkward even. Like the ease that built up between them, lately, has just...disappeared.

But then Steve looks, really looks, at Billy. How he's holding himself differently, like maybe he's nervous. How he's got dressed up, too, as though Steve isn't the only one who wondered if this is a date. Something in Steve loosens.

'Wanna get out of here?' he asks.

Billy shrugs. 'Sure,' he says. 'Because there's so much to do in Hawkins.'

'I know somewhere that could be cool.'

Billy raises a brow. 'More breaking and entering?'

Steve laughs. 'Not tonight.' He throws his keys at Billy who catches them one-handed. 'Wanna drive?' he asks.

'I can't be seen driving a BMW,' Billy says.

Steve reaches over and grabs for the keys, his hand brushing Billy's. 'OK, give the keys back then.'

Billy holds them out of reach and, with a grin, he gets into the driver's seat.

—

The BMW speeds along, the setting sun washing the trees that blur past in a haze of pink and orange. Billy's got one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the window, drumming on the side of the car. Steve watches him from the passenger seat, a sultry breeze ruffling his hair. His heart skips when Billy looks over and their eyes lock.

A smile tugs at his lips, warmth that has nothing to do with the summer night suffusing him. He keeps Billy's gaze a moment longer and they nearly miss their turn. 'Shit. Turn here,' he yells over the din of Billy's music. It's growing on him but he would never tell Billy that.

Billy turns, taking the corner sharp, and way too fast. It sets Steve's pulse racing but it feels good. They turn onto a disused road and Steve tells Billy to pull over. The engine dies as Billy takes the keys from the ignition, leaving them in a quiet that's so sudden and full it takes Steve's breath away. 

Steve opens his door and gets out, stretching his legs though they weren't in the car all that long. 'This way,' he says, waving Billy along.

Billy lights a cigarette and follows. Steve doesn't come out here often, but he knows the path well enough. They walk through tall, dry grass, Billy close behind Steve, his boots crunching heavily. The grass prickles against Steve's hands and swishes against their jeans as they walk. It's not long before Steve stops and Billy comes up beside him.

'Great surprise, Harrington,' Billy says, staring at the abandoned observatory. Its overgrown and weathered and not particularly big. 'Real impressive.'

The building is silhouetted against the deep mauve of the sky, its domed roof rising above them. Steve snorts. 'Shut up,' he says, 'this isn't what I wanted to show you.' 

He rounds the side of the building, making sure Billy is following him. There's a stack of crates listed against the wall and he starts to climb toward the flat part of the roof. 

Billy hands the boombox up to Steve and Steve sets it down then helps Billy over the edge, their hands clasped. He knows Billy doesn't need his help, but the feel of Billy's hand in his is heady. He lets go, though, fingertips lingering against the soft flesh of Billy's palm as he moves away.

Billy turns in a circle. 'Nice view, I guess.' He exhales a plume of smoke through his nose.

Steve huffs and points up. 

Billy follows the line of his arm, to the tip of his finger, and beyond. He quirks a brow. 'Did you bring me fucking stargazing?' He looks back to Steve. 'That's pretty girly.' His lips tilt, almost imperceptible.

'Well, we are at an observatory,' Steve says. 'Anyway, it's not like we can go—' He stops short. He was going to say out in town but they could. He and Billy could go to the diner or to the movies. If it weren't for the rumour, no one would look twice at them. No one would think anything of it. 

But there is the rumour. And they can't.

Billy wheels around. 'Can't go where?' There's a lick of flames in his eyes, voice low. He moves forward. 'Can't go where, Harrington?'

Steve spreads his hands. 'Out. In town.'

'Yeah? Why not?' There is meanness in Billy's voice when he adds, 'Don't want everything thinking you're a fag, too?'

'I—'

Billy is close enough that Steve can feel his breath over his face. His brows are drawn together, jaw tight. There's a moment, when Billy reaches toward Steve, that Steve thinks of that night in November and tenses. But when Billy's hand lands on him it's light, a soft shove at his shoulder, and he's smiling now. 'Don't sweat it, Harrington,' he says, and Steve sees that it's a sad smile, 'I get it.'

'OK,' Steve says, at a loss for anything else to say.

Billy turns, crouching by the boom box. He fiddles with the dials while Steve stands with his arms hanging by his sides, feeling like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out. Wishing he could say _fuck it_ and go to the movies with Billy, not care what anyone might think. 

Had he cared before he kissed Billy? He doesn't think so. There wasn't anything to lose, then.

Music blasts from the boom box and Steve jumps. Billy adjusts the volume and then he lies down. His shirt slips aside, showing the line of his ribs, the contours of his muscles, disappearing into shadow. 'You gonna stand there all night, or what?'

Steve blinks and shakes his head. 'No,' he says, and lies beside Billy. The roof is rough beneath him, hard on his shoulders and he shifts, trying to get comfortable.

Billy blows smoke rings, watching them float into the sky and vanish, before he crushes his cigarette. 'We could have done this at your house, you know.'

'It's nicer out here,' Steve says. 

A chorus of insects chirps along with the music, not quite in harmony. Billy grunts and drums his hands on his thighs, tapping his feet. 

'If you're bored, we don't have to stay,' Steve says.

'Did I say I was bored?'

'No,' Steve says. He feels wrong-footed. Off-kilter. 

Billy sits up and Steve's stomach jolts, thinking Billy is going to leave. But he only leans over to rewind the song and when he lies back down, he shuffles around so he can rest his head on Steve's stomach.

Steve sucks in a breath. 'What—' He stops himself from saying anything more. Doesn't want to shatter the moment. He raises his hand, then tentatively rests it on the crown of Billy's head. When Billy doesn't shake him off, Steve brushes his hand through Billy's hair. It's stiff with hairspray but it softens beneath Steve's touch.

'Know anything about stars?' Billy asks. His knees are bent, hands resting on his stomach.

'Huh?'

'Like, their names and shit.'

'Oh,' Steve says. He twirls his finger into one of Billy's curls. 'No. I just like looking at them.'

'Mm.'

A warm breeze blows by, cooling the sweat on Steve's skin. Billy has his eyes closed, the dark sweep of his lashes kissing his cheeks, his complexion washed silver by the moon.

Steve runs his finger up and down Billy's nose, traces the spray of freckles he can't see in the dusk light but that he knows is there. 'This song is nice,' he says.

'It's Boston.' Billy swats at Steve's hand, snapping his teeth when Steve's finger runs down to his lips. 

Steve smiles. He settles his hand at the base of Billy's throat, the other still twining through his hair. 'I thought you only liked angry music.'

Billy snorts. 'No, I like _good_ music.'

'If you say so.'

Billy turns and looks at Steve. 'You _just_ said you like this song.'

Steve's lips quirk. 'Whatever.'

Billy shakes his head, the movement ricocheting through Steve, and looks back up at the sky. He's got one hand running along the underside of Steve's thigh and it's driving him crazy. When Billy's fingers graze where his ass meets his thigh, his own fingers twist harder in Billy's hair. Billy grunts.

'Sorry,' Steve murmurs.

Billy looks back up at him, eyes half-lidded, hand stilling. His fingers are curled into Steve's inseam, pressing into the meat of his thigh. He licks his lips and then he pushes himself up, Steve's hands falling from him. Electricity crackles between them, raising goosebumps on Steve's skin. Billy shifts until he's leaning over Steve, one hand planted by his shoulder, the other curled around his neck.

Steve's pulse thunders under Billy's palm and he reaches up to sink a hand back into Billy's hair, at the same moment their lips touch. A small, formless noise rips itself from his throat as he parts his lips, angles Billy's head with the hand grasped in his curls.

Billy's tongue slides along the roof of Steve's mouth, catching on the back of his teeth. Warmth simmers in Steve's belly as Billy slips his hand down his body, and under his shirt. His hand skates up his stomach, fingers dancing over his ribs, up to tickle through his chest hair. A trail of electricity is left in the wake of Billy's touch, lighting Steve's nerves on fire. His thumb rubs over Steve's nipple as he kisses along his jaw, up to the sensitive spot below his ear. 

Their hips rock together and Steve can feel how hard Billy is through his jeans, their erections grinding together. It's kind of strange but it's hot. Exciting. Heat pools between Steve's hips, shooting through his groin, and he presses a hand to the small of Billy's back. Urges him closer and closer.

It feels so good. Too good. 'Shit,' Steve says, 'wait. I don't want to come in my pants.'

Billy pulls back. 'OK,' he says and reaches for Steve's fly. Pops the button and lowers the zip. 'Better?' he asks, voice low as he slips his hand into Steve's briefs and curls it around him. His thumb rubs under the head of Steve's dick and Steve nods and thrusts up. 

'Yeah. Fuck.' Steve watches Billy's hand move over him, can't believe this is really happening. It feels like he's been waiting forever for this, even though it's barely been a week since he and Billy shared a bottle of whisky by the quarry.

The press of Billy's erection at his hip snaps him into action and he scrambles for Billy's belt and fly. Pushes his hand inside Billy's jeans, past the band of his briefs, curls his hand around Billy's cock. Twists his wrist. Billy's hip stutters against the cradle of Steve's palm. 

They kiss again and Steve sucks Billy's lower lip between his, his teeth grazing the soft flesh. They're close enough that Steve can hear Billy's breath hitch in the back of his throat, could probably count every fluttering eyelash if he wanted to.

Steve pulls at Billy's waist until he's lying flush on top of him, thighs hot between his, their cocks sliding together. A soft moan unwinds from his throat and he thrusts up as Billy rolls his hips down. His weight is heavy and unfamiliar on top of Steve, pushing him down into the roof, but it's grounding at the same time as it turns him on.

Sweat and precome eases the slide of their cocks, pleasure mounting with each movement, addling Steve's brains. It's so, so good. He lets his hand slide from Billy's waist, down over the small of his back, to rest on the swell of his ass. He digs his fingers in and Billy grunts, hand clenching at Steve's waist.

'Sorry,' Steve says.

'S'okay. I don't— It's—' Billy's throat clicks and he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. 'It's fine.'

Emboldened, Steve squeezes tighter, spurring Billy to rock harder against him, rolling his own hips up with abandon. They kiss hungrily—eager and sloppy—and it's so fucking intoxicating and Steve never wants it to end but—

'I'm real close,' Billy says.

'Me too,' Steve says. His fingers slip along Billy's ass, edging inward, his thumb pressing into Billy's tailbone.

Billy lets out a stifled moan and buries his face in the crook of Steve's neck, biting down as he comes, hot and slick between them.

It sets Steve off and his own orgasm quakes through him. He feels it all the way down to his fucking toes, in the tips of his fingers, racing along his spine. Everything falls away for a split second and when it comes back it all seems clearer and fuzzier at the same time. 

'Shit,' Steve says, 'that was... _fuck_...' He swallows thickly.

'Yeah,' Billy murmurs against Steve's racing pulse.

The tape turns over, guitar fading in over the sound of their laboured breathing. Steve has his arms wound tight around Billy, the scent of sweat and hairspray and cologne dizzying as he comes back down. They probably look ridiculous with their jeans around their thighs and Billy collapsed on top of him, but Steve hasn't felt this good in longer than he can remember. 

Billy rolls off of Steve, arm stretched across the space separating them, hand groping until it finds Steve's. Their fingers entangle, slotting together haphazardly. Billy's lips are bee-stung and there's a flush all the way down his chest and there's come on his stomach and he looks so so hot. 

The boom box is still playing, someone singing it's more than a feeling and Steve's heart skips. 

He looks up to the sky and swallows. More than a feeling. 

It's more than a feeling.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 
> 
> This chapter kinda kicked my arse because I find writing sex scenes super hardAND I also don't always enjoy writing the bits where Billy and Steve aren't in the same scene XD but I got there. I think :) (Also, because I was up late editing, please feel free to point out any typos! I kept making really dumb mistakes and may not have caught them all)
> 
> The song at the end is, of course, More Than a Feeling by Boston (which I have included in Harringrove fic – or at least the playlist for my first fic – before because it's such a great song). That means the album they're listening to is their self titled album. (I mean, I guess it could also be a mixtape Billy made, but I decided to make it simple and just go with their album). [According to discogs](https://www.discogs.com/Boston-Boston/release/9217028) the tracklisting was a different order on the cassette than the LP so the song that they're probably doing it to (hi, I'm 12 apparently!) would be Foreplay/Long Time which is kind of amazing and I had to share that hahaha
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to be taking a break for a couple of weeks (sorry!!!!) so I can get some things done for the Harringrove Week of Love without overwhelming myself! But 6 & 7 will be posted on the 18th and 25th of February, respectively, Australia time, outside of unforeseen circumstances :)
> 
> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/gothyringwald). I'm always happy to chat (I don't bite!) :)
> 
> ETA: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!! granpappy-winchester [drew the moment before billy and Steve kiss from last chapter](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/post/182365546346/tell-me-a-secret-billy-says-for) and it’s so beautiful omg


	6. so, you haven't heard about him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand I'm back!
> 
> Thanks as always to socknonny for being a lifesaver and helping me work out the issues with this chapter :)
> 
> And just a reminder about the homophobia/homophobic language tags which, once again, come into play this chapter

Electronic music dings in the air, mingling with the chatter of teens and tweens, and the clink of coins. Lights flash from dark screens and there is the scent that only comes from too many sweaty bodies crammed in a room humming with electricity. Steve's tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth and his brow is furrowed in concentration as he manoeuvres the joystick gripped tight in his hand.

Beside him, Billy is leaning against the game, all relaxed lines, the ever present hint of danger beneath his soft smile. He pushes forward, leans close to Steve, breath ghosting over his skin when he says, 'If you beat my high score, I'll blow you.'

Steve's hand jerks forward and on the screen his character meets its untimely demise. 'You are so evil, dude.' He turns an annoyed glare on Billy but a spark of arousal has caught within him.

Billy grins, tongue between his teeth. 'Best out of three?' He cocks his head. 'Or are you worried I'll beat you again?'

'I would kick your ass if you didn't cheat,' Steve says. Video games aren't exactly Steve's thing but he's good at them. Billy is really good, too, which surprises Steve, though maybe it shouldn't. Billy has lightning fast reflexes and a quick mind.

'Me? Cheat?' Billy presses his hand to his chest, all but batting those pretty lashes of his. He sighs. 'You wound me, Harrington.'

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and bites the inside of his lip against a smile. 'You keep distracting me.'

Billy winks. 'You shouldn't be so easy to distract.'

Steve rolls his eyes but he's blushing. 'Best out of three,' he says, turning back to the machine and fishing in his pocket for another quarter. His gaze flickers over to Keith, face half-hidden behind the ever present bag of Cheetos. Is he looking at Billy and Steve strangely? Steve steps back from the machine and wipes his hands on his jeans. 'Actually, I forfeit.'

Billy's brow furrows, lips pursed, and Steve's stomach flips. But then Billy steps closer to Steve and says, 'Guess that means you owe _me_ a blow job.'

'Guess so,' Steve says, voice breathy.

It's been seven days since he kissed Billy by the pool, six since they had sex under the stars, and the week in between has been better than Steve could have imagined. Like a dream. They've mostly hung out at Steve's, listening to music, watching movies, sometimes going out for long walks around the town. Spent a lot of time tangled in Steve's sheets. But this is the first night they've gone out together where there are other people. 

Steve had suggested the arcade because he thought it would be safe. Dustin and the other kids are at camp, and most people their own age don't hang out here anymore. But he's still jittery. Still on his guard, wondering if everyone is watching them, whispering behind their hands.

Guilt and longing surge up in his chest. He wants so badly to kiss Billy or hold his hand or something. They can't do those things, of course, and not just because Steve is scared—Billy wouldn't reach out first, either. They both know it's not safe. But Steve isn't even brave enough to be Billy's _friend_ in public, hiding him away like he's ashamed, like a dirty little secret. It's shitty.

He sucks in a breath and he's going to say, _Let's grab a burger_ , but Keith is still there and the kid at the next machine is giving them funny looks, so Steve says, 'Wanna grab a movie on the way home?'

'We gonna go in together or are you gonna drop me around the block and I have to wait five minutes?'

Steve's pulse jumps. 'What? No—'

'Relax, I'm kidding,' Billy says, nudging Steve's arm with his elbow. He's grinning, half-teasing, half-mean.

'Right.' Steve swallows thickly. 'Let's go,' he says and walks out of the arcade, Billy catching up with long strides.

It's a balmy night but there's a cool breeze blowing down the street. They start toward the video store but they don't get far before Steve hears, 'Hey, Harrington,' and everything in him turns to stone.

Tommy is standing by his new car, Carol by his side. She's smacking her gum and he's wearing a shit-eating grin that makes Steve's stomach turn. Same as ever. Tommy's gaze flicks between Steve, who is stock still, and Billy standing beside him, the looseness he wore in the arcade gone taut. 

'I heard you've been hanging out with Hargrove,' Tommy says. He practically spits 'Hargrove' out, lip curled. 'Didn't think it was true.'

'Why wouldn't it be?' Steve's voice is level but inside he's turned all around. Where had Tommy heard about him and Billy? Had someone seen them together? He'd been so careful. 

He licks his lips, gaze flitting over to Billy. He's tense, poised for a fight. Steve angles himself between Billy and Tommy, though he's not sure he'll be able to stop Billy if he goes for Tommy. Not sure if he'll want to.

'So, you haven't heard about him,' Tommy says. There's a laugh in his voice like he's in on a joke that Steve doesn't know about. 'Better keep your back to the wall.'

Billy jerks forward, teeth bared—'I fucking dare you to say that again'—but Steve catches him around the waist. Pulls him back, even though Tommy would deserve the beatdown Billy is clearly spoiling to give him.

'Leave it,' Steve says, voice low so only Billy can hear. 'He's not worth it.'

'Don't tell me he's turned you.' Tommy sneers, looking at Steve's arm around Billy. 'First Wheeler turns you bitch, and now Hargrove turns you fag?'

Steve feels Billy tense in his hold, ready to spring, but he doesn't get the chance because Steve is pushing him away, stalking toward Tommy. 'Shut the fuck up, man.'

'Are you gonna make me?' Tommy asks, all but laughing.

'If you don't keep your mouth shut, then yeah.'

'Aww, defending your boyfriend's honour. How cute,' Carol coos. She blows a bubble, lets it pop.

'Oh shit.' Tommy's grin is mean. ' _Is_ he your boyfriend? Jesus, that's pathetic.'

'Yes, he is.' The words are said slowly, Steve's voice low. Cool. 

A crowd has gathered, scenting the promise of blood. Behind him Billy makes a choked noise. But Steve doesn't look around, his focus is solely on Tommy. His heart is still thundering but it's not fear making it beat fast, now. It's because Tommy is a small-minded asshole and Steve is one second away from punching him. 

He sucks in a deep breath. 'I don't care if you think it's pathetic or whatever else. You know, maybe you're just jealous.'

'Jealous?'

'Yeah, because _you_ never got to suck my dick.' 

A flush of anger rises to Tommy's face. 'You're disgusting.'

'It's better than being an asshole,' Steve says, matter of fact, and turns on his heel.

A chorus of 'oohs' rises up from the crowd; Billy is staring at Steve wide-eyed, jaw slack. 

Steve takes one step toward him, then two, when Tommy says, 'You are so dead, Harrington,' and shoves him from behind. Steve stumbles, wheels around, ready to give in and punch Tommy. God, he wants to punch him so bad. But Billy shoves past, grabs Tommy by his lapels, pushing him back until he hits his car with a thud.

'If you touch him again, I will kill you,' Billy all but growls. It sends a hot thrill through Steve. Tommy struggles in Billy's hold and Billy jerks him closer. 'Do you understand me?'

'Get the fuck off of me,' Tommy says.

'Do you understand me?' Billy repeats.

'Fine, I understand,' Tommy says, 'now get off of me, you psycho.'

Billy lets Tommy go with a forceful shove; Carol grabs Tommy and pulls him away, Tommy promising that Billy will regret this. Billy laughs.

A patrol car drives past, slowing down but not stopping; its presence alone makes the crowd scatter. Go back to their dates or whatever else.

But all of this only registers distantly to Steve. Because someone is calling his name. His stomach roils and his breath catches. Nancy is standing a few feet away—it looks like she's come from the direction of the diner—holding hands with Jonathan.

Steve's eyes dart between them. How much did Nancy hear? Did she hear Steve call Billy his boyfriend?

'Nance—' Steve takes a step back. He bumps into someone and he startles but it's only Billy, warm behind him.

'Everything OK?' Billy asks.

'Steve, what's going on?' Nancy's eyes are wide and bright, her lips are pursed.

'Nothing,' Steve says. 'I mean, I—' He looks at the ground. Looks up at Billy. Looks back to Nancy. She's taken a step closer. 'I can't, I have to go.' Steve grabs Billy's arm and pulls him toward the car.

'Steve, wait,' Nancy says.

But Steve is stumbling away, hand curled around Billy's arm. 'Let's go,' he says.

His hands are shaking and his ears are ringing. His skin buzzes. Everyone knows. That's fine. It's fine. He takes the car keys out of his pocket, can't get the key in the lock.

'Give me the keys,' Billy says.

Steve looks at the keys in his hands. 'OK.' He hands them to Billy and gets into the passenger seat. Everything feels far away. Not quite real. 

Nancy knows.

She's still standing in a pool of yellow light outside the car, Jonathan standing beside her. Steve can't look at them.

They know.

She knows.

The rumble of the engine and Billy's voice brings him back. 'I should've punched Tommy,' Billy says. 'But, man, the look on his face when you said he was jealous he didn't get to suck your dick.' Billy thumps his hand on the steering wheel, laughing. 'That was fucking awesome.'

'Yeah, thanks,' Steve says and then, 'Nancy knows.'

A beat of silence. 'So?'

'I should have stayed. I should have explained.'

'Think she got the general idea,' Billy says. His hands are tight around the steering wheel. 'Think everyone did.'

Cold washes through Steve. He looks at his hands in his lap. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't— Don't fucking apologise. Don't ruin it.'

'What?'

'No one's ever…stood up for me. Or whatever.' A muscle ticks in Billy's temple. The words grind out of him. 'No one has to, really, because I punch first usually. But…it was cool, OK? If you meant it.'

It's the most open Billy has been about his feelings and Steve is left winded. By Billy's honesty and by the pang of guilt that shoots through him. Billy is spilling his guts and Steve wishes he hadn't said anything. Not because of Tommy or Carol or anyone else. But because Nancy— 

' _Did_ you mean it?'

'Huh?'

'When you said…' Billy looks across at him, back to the road ahead. Headlights from an oncoming car shine in his eyes.

'That you're my boyfriend?' Steve asks. The words sit strangely on his tongue, but even through the panic, he likes them. They feel right. Billy nods. Steve swallows. 'Yeah, I meant that.'

'OK.' Billy turns onto Steve's street, pulls up into the drive and cuts the engine. He curls his hands over his knees, then runs them up and down his thighs. 'Do you regret saying it?' He looks at Steve.

Another car drives by, headlights sweeping over them and the house as it passes.

 _Yes_ , Steve thinks. _No. Maybe._

He knew they wouldn't be able to hide forever, but now that the words are out... 'I don't—' He pauses. There is something vulnerable in Billy's gaze, so Steve says, 'I don't think I do.'

'Good,' Billy says and leans over to kiss him.

—

The house is dark and quiet when Steve lets them in. His hands are still shaking from the residual adrenaline and his heart and mind are racing. He doesn't turn on the lights as he lets Billy pull him up the stairs, palms slotted together, toward his room. Neither of them speak.

Moonlight slants through Steve's blinds, soft bars of light and shadow creeping across his room. Billy sheds his shirt, tossing it aside, mussing his hair. He pulls Steve close and kisses him, hot and open-mouthed.

Heat infuses Steve's blood at the mere nearness of Billy. Billy's tongue slides against his and Billy's hands are hot on his back, snaking up under his shirt. It feels good, like it always does. But Steve can still see Nancy, still hear her voice. 

Billy pulls back. 'You're thinking too much,' he says, tapping a finger against Steve's temple.

'No one's ever accused me of that before,' Steve says.

Billy snorts. He slips his hands into Steve's back pockets. 'What're you thinking about?'

'Nancy.'

'Right.' Billy's hands fall from Steve as he steps away, voice cold, face shuttered.

Steve's stomach turns over. 'No, not like that,' he says, reaching for Billy, curling his fingers around his wrist, 'not anymore.'

Billy bites his thumbnail, looks up at Steve from beneath long lashes. On his guard. Considering. 'You're still freaking out, aren't you?'

'A little. I'm sorry, but…I can't stop thinking about how I just ran away. I should've talked to her.' The words trip from Steve's tongue, clumsy and unplanned. He sighs. 'I can't imagine what she's thinking.'

'Does it matter? She dumped you.'

'She's still my friend. Maybe that's…fucked up to you. But we've been through a lot together. I can't explain.' Steve shrugs. 'She means a lot to me.'

Silence falls and Steve wonders if maybe this—his ongoing affection for Nancy Wheeler—is going to be a deal breaker for Billy. But Billy looks at him and finally says, 'OK.'

'OK,' Steve says. He lets out a long breath. 'Maybe I can call—'

Billy claps his hand over Steve's mouth. 'Call her in the morning.'

'But—' Steve says, voice muffled by Billy's hand. It's warm, smells like motor oil.

Billy slides his hand around to cup Steve's jaw. He pulls Steve close again and leans in, lips brushing Steve's. 'Call her in the morning.'

Steve nods, breath quickening. 'I'll talk to her in the morning,' he says.

It's probably for the best, anyway. It will give Nancy time to process tonight, give himself time to calm down. He’ll talk to her face to face. Tell her everything. If she doesn’t want to be friends with him, anymore, then it’s a chance he’ll have to take. But tonight he doesn’t want to think about it. Wants to remain in the space between not knowing and maybe losing her for good. 

Billy grins and kisses Steve. His tongue slides against Steve's, hot and searching, and Steve holds onto him tight. 

'Do you want some music on?' Steve asks, swallowing thickly, when Billy breaks away to smear kisses along his jaw. Their hips are flush together, and Billy's skin is feverish beneath Steve's hands. 'You usually do...'

Billy shakes his head. 'I'm good.' He mouths at Steve's neck, sucking over his pulse. 'Anyway,' he says, crowding Steve back toward the bed, 'I owe you that blow job, remember.'

The backs of Steve's knees hit the edge of his mattress and he sits heavily. He looks up at Billy—his face is half in shadow, eyes glittering—and hooks his fingers into Billy's belt. He pulls until Billy is straddling him, thighs spread over his lap, knees by Steve's hips. 'I thought I owed you.'

Billy shrugs one shoulder. 'Whatever.' He pushes Steve down into the mattress, unzipping Steve's jeans and settling between his thighs.

Steve thrusts his hips up—'Oh, fuck'—and Billy hums around him, cheeks hollowing.

All other other thoughts fly from Steve's mind. He fists a hand in Billy's hair, holding him. It's heady how Billy lets him. How Billy _trusts_ him.

He wishes he were brave enough to shout this, this feeling right here, from the rooftops. To say fuck what anyone else thinks. But tonight he shouted it in the middle of town and maybe that's enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm sorry I had to take a break in posting but I really wanted to get a bunch of stuff done for the week of love :) (which I did, so yay!)
> 
> As usual, if you spot any little spelling errors/typos/punctuation mistakes please feel free to point them out because I'm going a bit cross-eyed at the moment haha
> 
> ICYMI I have [a moodboard for the fic here](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/181790228560/wicked-little-town-rated-e-wip-the-summer) and [a playlist over on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/andibgoode/playlist/59fOKCJh7AgAVTRNmNC2mr?si=rrN9u0mpScqSF_W0ir1lrQ)


	7. we'll figure it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, it's finally done! Thank you to everyone who's read/commented/left kudos so far! It's meant a lot :D
> 
> And a huge thank you to socknonny as always for being an awesome beta/cheerleader/all 'round awesome person <3333

Steve runs his hand along the length of Billy's spine, Billy's skin sleep-warm and soft beneath his palm. He's propped on one elbow, lying on his side, watching Billy sleep. Mapping the contours of his back, feeling the rise and fall as he breathes deep and steady. 

Warmth spreads through Steve that has nothing to do with the close air in his room. He shuffles closer, soft sheets tangled between his shins, and breathes in the scent of sex and Billy that makes his stomach go hot. 

Billy's nose twitches and he snuffles. His face is half pressed into the pillow, arms tucked beneath it; there is a flush on his skin, the dark smudge of his lashes kissing the ridge of his cheek. He shifts, eyes fluttering. 'Stop fondling me in my sleep, you perv,' he murmurs, voice muffled by the pillow.

'I'm not fondling you,' Steve says. He sweeps his thumb over the wing of Billy's shoulder blade, circles the birthmark on his shoulder.

Billy hums. 

'And you're not asleep,' Steve adds.

Billy snorts. He opens his eyes fully, turns his face so he's looking at Steve. 'You're still a perv.' 

'I don't remember you complaining last night,' Steve says. He lets his hand drift down Billy's back, fits his palm to the curve of Billy's ass, squeezing. 

Billy shifts his hips against the bed. 'Whatever,' he says, but he's smiling, lazy and content.

It strikes Steve how fucking _weird_ and impossible this is—to be lying here in his bed with Billy Hargrove and to be so…happy—but weird and impossible are kind of commonplace in his life, now. It’s even weirder that Billy seems just as happy as Steve does. Steve hasn’t asked Billy how he feels, exactly, but after last night… His heart thuds hard. Fuck. This is so much, so soon. He runs his hand down Billy's thigh, hooks his ankle over Billy's calf, and pulls Billy toward him.

Billy rolls onto his side, tucking one arm beneath his face, looping the other around Steve's back. He leans in and kisses Steve slow and warm. Steve hums into his mouth, keeps running his hand along Billy's back.

There is a sheen of half-dried sweat on his skin from being pressed close to Billy all night, that filmy unclean morning feeling all over besides. He doesn't care, though, with Billy kissing him. With Billy's tongue in his mouth, his hands everywhere. Their thighs are slotted together and he pulls Billy closer, can feel Billy's cock filling against his own. He rocks his hips forward, starting to find that perfect rhythm, that perfect friction.

But then Billy pulls away, saying, 'Wait, what time is it?' craning his neck to look at the alarm clock behind Steve.

'Early,' Steve says, mouthing at Billy's neck, sucking the salt from his skin.

Billy sounds breathless when he says, 'That's not what your clock says.'

'Clock's wrong.'

Billy huffs a laugh. 'Sure.' He disentangles himself and gets out of bed, evading Steve's groping hands. His movements are slow, though. Reluctant. He starts pulling on his clothes, the early morning light playing over his muscles, his half-hard cock, the dusting of hair on his chest and thighs. Steve watches him openly. It sends a thrill through him to know that he doesn't have to pretend he isn't looking—pretend that he doesn't _want_ to look—at Billy anymore.

But with every item of clothing Billy pulls on Steve's stomach sinks. 'Don't go yet,' he says, reaching out.

Time moves faster with Billy here—the remaining days of summer are slipping through Steve's fingers, moving faster with every minute. Every second. A month ago, he wouldn't have thought he’d want to cling to them. But now he does. Desperately.

Billy looks down at him, lips shining and kiss-swollen, eyes dark. 'I'll be late.' He threads his belt through his jeans, does up the buckle. He pauses, and Steve can _feel_ the shift in his mood. 'You gonna talk to Wheeler today?' Billy's not quite looking at Steve, now, biting the corner of his thumbnail. 

Steve's stomach clenches. The swirl of nausea that had settled overnight is threatening to rise up again. He'd been trying not to think about Tommy and Nancy and what he'd said but it all comes flooding back and— 'Yeah. I have to. I owe her an explanation.'

A frown creases Billy's brow. 'You don't owe anyone anything.'

'Yeah,' Steve says, getting onto his knees and taking Billy's hand in one of his, cupping his face in his other, 'I do.' Before Billy can try to convince him that he doesn't need to go see Nancy, even though every fibre of Steve knows that isn't true, Steve kisses him. 

Billy kisses back, briefly, then pulls away. He licks his lips. 'I have to go.' His thumb is rubbing circles on Steve's palm.

Steve sighs. He wants to prolong this moment—every moment—with Billy but Billy has to go to work and he has to go to Nancy. So he lets go of Billy's hand and watches him walk out of the room. 

But Billy stops at the door, turning back with a wide smile, tongue between his teeth. 'Think about me when you jerk off,' he says and then he's gone.

Steve laughs and flops back, staring up at his ceiling. His body is still waking up, still feels loose from sleep and last night's sex. But inside he's a mess of conflicting feelings—he's happy and he's scared and he's excited and he's everything and nothing all at once.

He sighs and drags himself out of bed. It's time to get it over with.

—

Steve's pulse hammers in his throat as he stands before the Wheelers' home. It's been a while since he's been nervous to knock at Nancy's door, but after last night he's not sure what's going to happen once he does. Will knowing be worse than this churning sensation of not knowing? This limbo between being Nancy's friend and possibly not?

He wipes his hands on his jeans and knocks. The morning air is cool—the summer heat slowly turning to the crispness of fall—but his face is warm as he waits. 

About a minute that feels like an eternity later, Mrs Wheeler opens the door. 'Steve,' she says, eyes wide, 'this is a surprise.'

'Good morning, Mrs Wheeler.' Steve clears his throat, waits for her to say her usual, _You know you can call me Karen, Steve_ , but she doesn't. 'Um. Can I come in, please? I need to see Nancy.'

'Of course.' Mrs Wheeler steps aside with a small smile, letting Steve pass. She moves over to the foot of the stairs and calls up to Nancy, then turns back to Steve. There is a questioning look in her eyes and Steve wonders if Nancy had told her about last night. But, then again, she's probably only wondering why Nancy's ex-boyfriend has turned up saying he needs to see her. Sounding so urgent. She smiles over at Steve and says, 'Would you like a drink? You look a little flushed.'

'I'm fine, thank-you.' He shifts his weight.

'Steve.' Nancy has stopped on the landing, her hands curled over the bannister. She looks as surprised as her mother had been. 'Hi.'

'Hey, Nance,' Steve says, heart thundering. He flicks his gaze to Mrs Wheeler, then back to Nancy. 'Can I, uh, can I talk to you?'

Nancy nods. 'Sure,' she says, slowly, 'come up,' and turns to go back to her bedroom.

Steve gives Mrs Wheeler a strained smile then follows Nancy. His sneakers sink into the carpet in the hallway, footfalls silent, following a familiar path. Nancy's room hasn't changed much, either, and Steve is hit with an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. He remembers the last time he was in her room, before everything. He didn't think he'd be here again. Definitely not like this.

An awkward silence fills the space between them. Steve folds his arms over his stomach, Nancy fiddles with the hem of her blouse. Even at their worst was it ever like this between them? Probably, Steve thinks, but time and distance have made him forget. Or maybe that's just Billy.

'About last night—' he blurts, then realises he's not sure where to go from there. Nancy is looking at him expectantly but not impatient, giving him time to gather his thoughts. He draws in a long breath, the hint of Nancy's perfume in the air, and says, 'I shouldn't have run off. But I didn't know what to say.' He lets out a shaky laugh. 'I still don't.'

'It's OK,' Nancy says, 'you don't have to say anything.'

'I kinda do.'

'OK, then can I ask you something?' Nancy asks. When Steve nods, she says, 'Are you gay, now?' The words come out quickly like Nancy isn't sure if she should ask. Like maybe she's asked the question over and over in her head.

It's a question that's circled Steve for a while now—gnawing, formless, in the back of his mind—so he can't blame Nancy for asking. But it doesn't make it easy to answer. 'No,' he says, and then, 'I don't know.' He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It should be a simple question and yet... He looks at Nancy and says, 'No,' and thinks it feels right.

Nancy's brow furrows. 'But you and Billy are…'

'Yeah. We are.' Steve spreads his hands and shrugs when Nancy's expression doesn't clear. 'I really like him, Nance.' It's an understatement and he's hit again with how _much_ he feels for Billy. He looks down to Nancy's pink carpet. Has to catch his breath. He hasn't felt this way about someone since... He glances up.

'Steve—' That one word is loaded with incredulity and concern, laced with judgement. She shakes her head. 'He beat you up.'

'So did Jonathan.'

Nancy blushes. She casts her eyes to her hands, folded in front of her. 'Would you have told me?'

'Yes,' he says, 'but not yet. I wasn't ready.' To be seen differently by her. To be the Steve who is with Billy instead of the Steve between Nancy and an unknown someone. To cut that thread. He swallows thickly. 'I didn't want you to find out that way, Nance. But I would have told you.'

'OK,' Nancy says, softly.

'Are we?' Steve asks. 'OK, I mean.'

Nancy nods, not looking at Steve, and when she says, 'Yeah, of course,' it comes out a little forced. 'We'll always—' She swallows, throat clicking, and looks up at Steve. A year ago the look in her eyes would have broken Steve's heart. Today it squeezes it a little, leaves him winded. Nancy purses her lips. 'I just need a little time, I think.'

'Yeah, yeah. That's fine.' Steve presses his lips together. He feels wrung out and he's said everything he needed to. 'I should…go.'

'You don't have to.'

'But I should.' 

They look at each other for long moments across the divide of Nancy's bed. Something has shifted between them, something that won't go back, and Steve knows it's time to leave. It feels like the end of something but the start of something, too.

As he steps into the hall, Nancy calls out, 'Steve,' and he turns back. She's reaching out a hand to him but then it drops to her side, bunches in her skirt. 'You and me...was that real?'

'Yeah, it was,' Steve says and Nancy's shoulders sag. Steve can't tell if she's relieved or disappointed.

He turns and walks away. His legs are unsteady and his heart is still pounding but he feels lighter. He calls out to Mrs Wheeler and then he walks out of the front door. 

In the haven of his car, he exhales, long and slow. It doesn't feel as scary as he thought it would, this change between he and Nancy. Having her know, without a doubt. It's still scary and it's fucking strange but it's okay. They're going to be okay, they're still going to be friends, even if it won't be the same. It's a good thing, he thinks. Hopes. 

The engine gutters to life and he peels down the street, one of Billy's tapes playing in the tape deck. A breeze stirs through the opened window, and the sun beats down on the windshield. The scent of summer fills the car and Steve breathes it in deep as he drives one-handed.

He takes the long way home.

—

The Camaro is in his drive when Steve pulls up, gleaming in the midday sun. Billy is leaning against it, smoking a cigarette, one thumb hooked into the pocket of his jeans. He looks as cool as ever and the sight of him makes Steve's heart beat.

'I thought you were working today,' Steve says as he gets out of the car and strides over to Billy. Billy doesn't respond.

When Steve gets closer, he can sense something isn't right. Billy is all tension but it's different than what Steve is used to. Or, no, it's like how he used to be. Before. Steve's stomach twists as Billy turns to look at him. There's a bruise along the side of Billy's face and his lip is split. 

'What happened,' Steve says, stopping so he's toe to toe with Billy.

Billy ducks his head. 'My dad knows.'

The world see-saws. Steve sucks in a sharp breath to steady himself. His gaze drifts to the bruise. 'You said…you said your dad didn't hurt you.'

'What?' Billy looks up, frowning. 'I've never said that.'

'By the pool, that night. I asked if your dad would hurt you if he found out, and you said he wouldn't.' Steve raises a hand tentatively, gently sweeps a thumb over Billy's cheek. Billy lets out a shuddering breath. Something vibrates in Steve's chest. 'You said he'd just kick you out, maybe.' 

Billy tilts his head, like he's trying to remember, and then his face clears. He snorts. 'Pretty sure you implied my dad would _kill_ me or something. I meant he wouldn't do _that_.' He blows out a plume of smoke, throws his cigarette to the ground, crushes it beneath his heel.

'Oh,' Steve says. His stomach curls. Fuck, he's so stupid. All this time… 'If I'd known I'd have—'

'You'd have what?' Billy snaps.

'I don't know.' Steve's stomach is in knots and his chest feels tight. His _teeth_ sting; he curls and uncurls his hand at his side. 'How'd your dad find out?'

'Doesn't matter,' Billy says.

'Billy.' Steve draws in a breath, a terrible feeling settling within him. 'How did he find out?' 

Billy stares Steve down, silently, arms crossed over his stomach. 'Tommy's dad told him,' he says finally. 'He and my old man work together. Guess Tommy let slip about me, or about us, and his dad figured he'd give mine a ribbing about it.' He shrugs. 'Dad didn't take the news too well.' He waves his hand over the side of his face where bright red blooms against the tan of his skin.

' _Billy_.' Steve curls his hands around Billy's elbows, gently rests their foreheads together. He doesn't press for further details. He's not sure what he'd do if he had them. 'I'm so sorry.' 

'It's not your fault.' Billy tilts his head back, away from Steve, slumping against the car. 'But I wouldn't expect an invite to family dinner anytime soon.'

Steve's eyes dart to the backseat of the Camaro. It's crammed with boxes and bags, overflowing with clothes and cassettes. The boombox Billy had brought to the observatory is wedged between them. 'He kicked you out, then?'

Billy nods. 'Hope you don't mind having a homeless boyfriend.'

'I—' Steve starts, uncertain how to continue. He remembers Billy saying _I meant he'd kick me out and maybe I'd finally leave this shithole_ , and his head spins. 'You can stay here,' he says, words tumbling out in a rush. 'At least until my parents get back.'

Billy chews on his thumbnail. 'And after that?'

'We'll figure it out.'

'Sure.'

'We will,' Steve says. He pulls on Billy's elbows until Billy's arms are around his waist and presses a kiss to his forehead. His uninjured cheek. His lips, finally. Billy sighs into the kiss, hands bunched in Steve's shirt.

It's the first time Steve has thought about what might happen once his parents get back. But summer is dwindling and, with it, his time alone with Billy. He knows his parents won't be happy about him being with Billy—he doesn't exactly fit into his dad's plans for Steve's future—but he doesn't know what they'll do about it. It's not something he's ever had to think about. He'll find out, though, one way or another. But this thing with Billy—it feels like something that could last and Steve is determined to hold onto it.

Billy butts his forehead against Steve's chest, then rests it there. There is weary resignation in the bow of his head, the slump of his shoulders. Steve runs his hand along the back of Billy's neck, down his back. He wants to tell Billy it will be okay, make him feel better. Soothe him. But he only rubs Billy's back, holds him close.

When Billy straightens, his eyes are damp. Steve doesn't say anything about it but he wipes a thumb along Billy's cheek. It comes away wet.

'Fuck,' Billy says, turning his head away and wiping his face with the back of his hand. He sniffles. 'I need a drink.'

Steve lets out a tremulous laugh. 'Me too.' The thought of alcohol connects several dots in his mind. He runs his hand along Billy's arm, tugs at his hand. 'Hey, Trish is having another party tonight.'

Billy blinks. 'So?'

'So…wanna be my date?' It's reckless but summer isn't over yet. There's still time for recklessness.

'Sure,' Billy says, rolling his eyes. When Steve stays silent he adds, 'Wait, you're serious.'

'Yeah.'

'Everyone's gonna be there.'

'I know.' It's the last party of summer, the last party between senior year and the rest of his life. Steve wants to go with Billy and show everyone that he doesn't care what they think. Wants to show Billy that he means more to Steve than they do. That he's done hiding.

Billy shakes his head. 'You're crazy.'

'You're crazier.'

A grin slowly spreads over Billy's face, all crooked and full of reignited fire. He hooks his fingers in Steve's belt and pulls him close. 'Yeah, Harrington,' he murmurs against Steve's lips, 'I'll be your fucking date.'

—

The summer night is cool, but there is a lingering sultriness in the air, in the breeze tangling through the trees and shrubs. Music spills out of the opened door and onto the lawn where Steve stands, heart in his throat. His pulse thuds in time with the rhythm, his head is light. But he feels anchored with the warmth of Billy by his side. They're not holding hands, though Steve itches to, but they're standing close enough.

From the glimpses Steve catches through the door, everything looks the same as it ever was—the people, the booze, the music—but it seems different from his vantage point. Maybe it's because Billy is here with him, or maybe it's just that Steve has changed.

'You sure you wanna go in?' Billy asks. 

Steve looks across at him. He's wearing a black shirt, cuffs tight around his biceps, buttons teasingly undone. His hair is perfect, shining in the moonlight. There's a smirk tilting his lips but there is uncertainty, vulnerability, in his eyes. 

It knocks something loose in Steve, makes it unspool, and fills him up with warmth, that he can see that in Billy. That Billy lets him see that. He smiles at Billy, then looks back at the house.

He sucks in a deep breath. 'Yeah,' he says, moving forward, knowing Billy will follow, 'let's go.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! And thanks again to everyone who's read/commented/kudos'd along the way! It's honestly meant so much to me – I really appreciate it :) this was a lovely way to spend my summer to be honest :D
> 
> As always, feel free to come find me on tumblr [@gothyringwald](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) (I'm on pillowfort under the same name) – my inbox and IMs are always open :)
> 
> And ICYMI:  
> I have a moodboard for the fic [over here](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/181790228560/wicked-little-town-rated-e-wip-the-summer)  
> A [playlist on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/andibgoode/playlist/59fOKCJh7AgAVTRNmNC2mr?si=sY5Pqy82T4iWTF34OPErBQ) (it's a mess and I was going to organise it better but...eh! The songs don't all fit lyrically, but they helped me get in the right mood)  
> And [there's this gorgeous art](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/post/182405365716/granpappy-winchester-granpappy-winchester) by granpappy-winchester/lazybaker! 
> 
> I'm probably forgetting something, like I always do, but ah well. I'm so tired! I spent all day yesterday editing this darn thing Haha


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